Dawning Fire
by Tacitus labs
Summary: 'I will put their orchard of hope and dreams to the torch and watch it burn them from the inside out.' Their world lies shattered but they would not be the people we love so much if they would submit to such a cruel injustice. OU/OoC/OC you know the drill comment and review. *first story here we go ;) *
1. Chapter 1

_Once there was a chance they could have had a normal life. A life free from oppression and fear where their children would grow tall and strong under a gentle sun._

_But now the dream has died and the Grim Reaper smiles on both with a wide humourless grin and deep empty eyes._

_They will die as all must, but before they do they will bring back the light to a shattered world. _

The rain fell in sheets cascading down below the angry clouds that walked across the craggy land on legs of jagged lightning. The forest was dark and deep as little light penetrated its wall of twisting trees. A figure ran between the towering trees as the rain fell through the canopy and made a sharp sound as it landed on the figures armoured body. A tattered and torn cloak was wrapped around the figure and flapped furiously in the wind. Something changed in the air like a something large and with intent pushing through the atmosphere. A low sinister droning slowly took over the rolling thunder and a rising warm wind shook the trees as suddenly several shafts of light burst through the canopy and seemed to sweep around in seemingly random directions as if aimlessly searching for something.

The figure did not stopped when one lights swathed over him and illuminated the battered and worn armour. The trees were shaking uncontrollably now as something big and powerful slowly descended over the figure as the bright harsh light swathed over him and a deep booming voice rang out through the forest.

"Lay down your weapons and surrender in the name of the Greater Traction Imperium," the voice demanded in a sharp language through the booming speakers. The dreadnought's engine pods swivelled to an upright position and slowly cycled down to a low but loud purr as the ship came to a rest above the trees. Four massive anchors were drooped and crashed into the soft earth below dredging up the forest floor.

Soldiers in dark blue uniforms were rappelling to the ground on long ropes that draped down from the ships open belly. A large mechanical dog-like machine had been dropped down in a harness and was currently growling in a low synthesized voice from a speaker in its neck. It did not approach the armoured figure but it did lower its body readying to pounce at the command.

Crackling arc cannons and steam powered sub-machine guns were pointed at the intruder's direction but the figure did not move from its casual stance expect for the occasion jet of steam that fired from between its joints. A man stepped forward with a megaphone and winced as the feedback screamed through the night when he switched it on.

"You are crossing into Traction lands during a time of war. We are ordered to take you from this place where you will put into criminal processing. Do you understand?" said the man through the megaphone.

The figure stance changed slightly as if something had been triggered deep within. And then it happened: the bulletproof eye slits suddenly lit up with a bright but ghostly blue light like two lantern. Between the joints and cracks in the armour similar dots and pricks of light switched on and off in strange mesmerising pattern while a low whine that sounded like a turbine starting up joined the night air.

"NO," said the figure in a harsh scratchy voice that sounded like two plates of metal grinding together. It cocked its head as if analysing the soldiers with its ghostly glowing eyes, "I WILL NOT LEAVE UNTIL I FIND HER."

It eyes seemed to narrow as it stared at the commander. "YOU WILL TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE KEEPING HER," it said.

The soldiers were startled at the things harsh voice and unconsciously fingers tightened slightly on triggers. Their leader was less intimidated; little shocked him after his two years on the Miracle Mile.

"You are ordered to surrender. Deactivate the armour and prepare to be restrained." Said the leader. Under the bright white spotlights the figures armour looked ghostly white and when combined with the Ragged and torn hood and shawl that was flapping in the airships engine draft the effect was all the more unsettling.

The 'ghost' lowered its head ever slightly casting dark shadows across its armoured skull-piece "YOU HAVE NO IDEA OF WHAT I HAVE FACED, WHAT I HAVE ENDURED AND I WILL BE DAMED IF I WILL BE STOPPED BY YOU," the ghost said in a tone that should have been a whisper but came out in a deep rolling thunder. The low whine had suddenly increased to a screaming reverberating wave that ripped through the spectrums of audible noise. Men dropped to their knees as the sound tore at their eardrums and the mechanical dog had sparks spurting out of its head. The radio set that was strapped to a young private's back that had been listening in suddenly cackled and cried as the piercing shriek vanished into the ultrasonics as the noise blasted through every frequency.

Above from within the open cargo bay of the dreadnought gunfire began spraying out. The sounds of dull thuds rang out as heavy rounds thudded into the ground and a thick smell of cordite began to fill the air as the confused men on the ground began firing wildly in all directions.

A thick fog of smoke drifted across the ground smothering the battle below the airship. Then something dark came charging out of the smoke and with a powerful grip began to snap necks. Soon the gunfire fell silent and the men above tried desperately to pierce the gloom below with the dark red glow of flares.

Two red dots stared up at them and something tall and dark was caught in the bright phosphorus light of falling flares. They should have payed attention to the War Hawks and Harpy Bats that nested in the rafters of the hanger that had been squawking and cawing at the violent noise had suddenly became deadly quiet and were now listening intently to the silent instructions that whispered to them high in the ultrasonics. The only noise the soldiers heard came from the humming propellers.

The rappel cables that had been used to deploy the ground troops were still swaying in the breeze then one tightened in a deep echoing twang as something heavy grabbed on. The men in the hangar looked at it as a sliver of fear danced like lightning down their backs.

A squawk was given through the ghost's speakers and the birds descended with talons out and beaks open.

On the bridge there was chaos as officers roared commands down speaking tubes to the hangar demanding to know what the gunfire was about and where the hell had the target gone. But a rumbling explosion that echoed through the ship answered their questions. Not to worry though as there are protocols and counter measure to defend against fires on board such highly flammable ships. Of course it does help that there are people left to enact those countermeasures.

The ghost watched the airship slowly burn from a nearby knoll. The bright orange pyre cast a sullen reflection of its armoured body. The war-birds and livestock that had been on-bored had escaped through the rents and gashes it had made in the walls of their cages. She would not have wanted them to die with their masters.

The ghost had learned little at first from his interrogation of the bridge officers but the ghost had been methodical and patient and he had eventually learned of likely place to pick up the search again. A place simply called The Bastille which lay far to the north.

The ghost's sensitive ears were already picking up the signals and radio chatter form incoming patrol ships responding to the dreadnoughts S.O.S and would be here within the hour. With a final look at the burning hulk the ghost turned and moved to the other side of the knoll were it surveyed the landscape beyond. With one hand it reached up to its faceplate and clicked something just under where its ear would be and the front piece of metal came away with a hiss of steam. The face beneath was young looking with intense green eyes and a few days of stubble growing, the raven dark hair was matted from perspiration. After a few deep breaths of unfiltered air the man replaced the skull piece back on and a pressured hiss was heard as the suit cut the man of from the outside world. The eerie blue glow returned to the circular hollow eyes and.

The ghost ran on towards his looming goal. Lightning flashed amongst the darkling clouds as the forest shook with in the gale force winds. Two blue lights sped on through the dark. Past the gloom the shadows of towering barren mountains lay ahead.

Far away deep down in the bowls of the ancient fortress known as the Bastille a solitary noise could be heard. It was a sniff followed by another and then movement as a figure moved through the dark to a tiny barred slit that acted as the chambers only form of ventilation. The figure moved to it and sniffed again much like an animal and a wolfish grin spread along its features. A howl was heard through the cold menacing fortress and the guards that inhabited it shivered at the sound.

The beast gnashed its teeth with anticipation and its eyes glowed a hot red in the dark. It was had been waiting for so very long but now it was about to receive an old friend.


	2. Chapter 2

_The woods are lovely dark and deep but they have promises to keep and miles to go before they sleep. Starlight drills in from the depths of space as something heavy trundles onwards. Fleeing from the embers of war._

Alek toppled to his left clinging to the guard rail for support as they came to fast stop, sparks flew out of control panels and people fell down all across the ship. After the initial shock, security and damage control teams scrambled for general quarters securing every section of the hulking overland battleship while on the bridge Alek hefted himself up shaking the stars from his eyes. The main lights had shut down and the bridge was now illuminated by a dull red of the backups. The low rumble from below slowly died as the engines cycled down and the massive legs came to a shuddering stop.

"All stations sound off" Alek yelled, a chorus of voices responded.

"Weapon systems green sir," said one.

"Communication up and running, Sir!" yelled another

"Sir engineering reports that engines one two and three have shut down and that we've blown a stabilizer," one finished.

"Cuts and bruises all round, but we're ok." said Newkirk wiping his brow.

Alek looked at him for a second then ran off down the corridor Newkirk new better than to call after him. Alek ran down halls and slid down ladders. He had to push people out of the way most of them were asking what had happened but Alek just ignored them; he had bigger things on his mind. He grabbed an assault rifle on the way strapping it to his back and loading it with a fresh magazine. He finally reached his destination in the bowls of the ships brig, he paused beside two men who stood guard guns pointed at the titanium enforced door.

Slowly he walked towards the door once there he peered through the round window. He could barely see in the dim light he pulled back and nodded at one of the men to open it. Once a large lever was pulled in the control box several heavy pistons started to groan opening the thick door. Alek watched as the door swung open with a low grown and then he cautiously entered. He heard the groan again as the door swung back and the room shadows consumed him.

For nearly a hundred years before the Great War the world had been commanded by two superpowers: The Darwinists with their mastery over the building blocks of life and the Clankers who forged their power in diesel and steel; all was to change. It is not entirely known what exactly happened in those final days of the war but what has been gathered is that with a final push a group of fanatical Clankers launched an assault against a Darwinist research facility where they unleashed something catastrophic: the Red Tide.

The virus spread fast like an upgraded version of small pox. Carried by birds and bats who ignored country borders they devastated the third world which led to most mainland countries falling within the first few years. There was no protocol for mass quarantine and the war had depleted the resources of already stricken countries in Eastern Europe and Africa. The Russian monarchy used the chaos to claim parts of Austro-Hungary and Serbia strengthening their power. The Ottoman Empire fell within a day as displaced refuges fought their way through Istanbul's great walls and pushed on ravaging and spreading the disease into the middle-east and North Africa then on to the far-east. America managed to survive the first wave by closing its borders to all South American nations as the plague decimated them. There was nothing to stop the infected except burn the bodies be they dead or alive. The screams of those unlucky enough to fall in the latter rang out through the long nights.

The ash rained for days. The smell lasted a little longer.

But it was not over. As empires fell and new ones took their place the world order shifted. Britain as the seat and central power of all Darwinian principles and control over genetic manipulation managed to provide a vaccine. However barely a third of the countries within the empire actually received the vaccine as the virus multiplied and spread like wildfire. It now remains as an island fortress and the last European country from before the plague. The continental countries of East Asia formed a collection of nations called the United Nations. Japan's government declared the entire south pacific its divine right and swiftly took the Philippines and Indonesia. Africa lies in turmoil as warlords fight each other over the mineral rich continent.

The dead keep piling up.

They closed the door behind Alek as he moved in to the room. It was basically a prison cell yet its dimensions were double that of a normal cell and at its centre was a circle about three meters in diameter with four restraints in the middle for holding someone in a knelling position. Alek gulped when he saw no one was in it he made a mental note that if he survived this he would get more restraints or a better welder. Alek stopped in the centre and pushed the button on his radio ear piece.

"Newkirk can you hear me" he whispered.

"Yeah," the response came.

"Well, are there any breaches that you can detect?" Alek asked still whispering.

"No she's probably still in there," he said.

Alek slowly did a 360° of the room nothing there then he sensed it a presence from behind him he steadied himself and spun round fast there was nothing there he relaxed silently that was a mistake. In a split second something grabbed Alek from behind and threw him against the wall. His gun fell at his feet, he tried to reach for his sidearm but a cold, clawed hand grabbed him by the neck and held him up against the wall and he felt his feet leave the ground. Another hand pushed the side of his head against the wall exposing his bare neck. Alek felt warm breath against his neck and heard a hissing sound mixed with an inhuman growl.

"Alright," he said relaxing his muscles and going limp. "I'm not…going to hurt you Deryn…Come on it's me, Alek," he pleaded through gasps.

He felt the pressure on his neck realise and he dropped to the ground on his backside leaning against the wall his gun laid at the side of his boot. He grabbed it and slowly stood up making sure it was fastened properly this time. Deryn stood there a few meters away from him she had her head down and was looking at her boots she wore a specially designed combat jacket and fatigues that were light yet exceptionally strong. She stayed that way for a few seconds then looked up and said. "What kept you?"

"Well I don't know if you felt it but something just blew out a stabilizer so it was kind of crowded," he said.

"That's not what I meant" she said between clenched teeth.

Alek sighed and moved towards her slightly but stopped when he saw her body tense slightly.

"You know why Deryn," he said. He saw Deryn loosen a bit.

"All I did was through him around a bit," she said.

"Deryn you broke his arm in three places, fractured his shoulder blade, nearly ripped his head off and what's not said about what you almost did to his lower areas the better" Alek said who was starting to feel like a parent telling off a misbehaved kid, "People got scared and started asking questions, Deryn."

"Bastard should have kept his hands to himself," Deryn muttered, Alek couldn't help but smirk.

Deryn looked down at her feet for a while then said. "So… can I come out now?"

Alek only response was to nod. Deryn dashed towards him in an instant and wrapped her arms around him in hug so tight it squeezed the breath from him. Alek hugged back and breathed deep taking in her scent.

In response to the spreading chaos Dr Barlow led her scientists in injecting dozens of subjects, Deryn being one of them, with a serum they hoped would help fight against the virus. Instead it _changed_ them. Barely six made it, as for the rest they lingered in torment, screaming for release as the boffins simply recorded their pain and hard deaths. Later Alek learned of the lie they had told him and the Boffins true intentions. Alek managed to get Deryn out of Britain. They were on the run in world that was consumed in anarchy.

Alek stepped out of the hug and unclipped a pair of restraining cuffs. The cuffs were more for show rather than anything else people got scared when they knew you could turn them to ribbons in under a second. Before he put them on she lifted the hood over her head to stop the light from blinding her once they were outside the cell.

The door opened slowly and Deryn stepped out her head bent down so the light did not hinder her eyes. Alek stepped out after her closing the door behind them he kept the butt of the rifle against his shoulder yet pointed at the floor. Deryn nodded politely at the two guards that stood either side of the bulkhead. They fell silently in line with her with Alek leading in front.

"So do we know anything of what's going on out there?" Alek asked to the guard to the right of Deryn.

"Sir, Major Newkirk radioed in a few moments ago. Apparently a crack formed in one of the suspension sockets which blew out one of the right stabilizers and requires external repairs. He's waiting for you in the rear bay," replied the guard.

The rear vehicular launch bay was one of the largest sections of the ship cat walks crisscrossed above a large open area where vehicle were stored and supplies loaded. It was mainly used for the deployment of smaller salvage vehicles and small attack and rescue craft and was equipped with a massive draw bridge like door at the very back of the ship. Newkirk was waiting for them when they arrived he had already put on some armour and had grabbed his pride and joy: a massive double-barrel shotgun he fondly called Jessy which was strapped to his back.

A small smile tugged at the side of his lips when he saw them and he walked over two them. The two guards moved off back to their assigned duties as Newkirk took Deryn and Alek over to where several squads and technicians were. As they arrived Alek removed the cuffs from her wrists.

"You wanna do the briefing or me?" asked Newkirk as the group of people began to assemble around them.

"I think it best if you do it I don't have the kind of steel in my voice as you do," he said.

"Stage fright is not a good quality in a leader," said Newkirk.

"I am aware of that and I'll have you know that Deryn has been teaching me the basics of public speaking."

"I bet that's not all she's teaching you," muttered Newkirk.

"What was that?"

"Alright Ladies listen up, you have the pleasure of escorting this team of Engineers outside so that they can repair the damage to our stabilizers," Newkirk said gesturing to the group of mechanics clustered together.

"Radar and aerial patrols report that both sky and our Ground Sniffers have come back clean. Also to make you feel even more comfortable were bringing along our resident prowler and for you new recruits that haven't worked with a prowler before don't worry she doesn't bite…much" he said Deryn flashed her best vampire smile from beneath her hood at the group of young fighters playfully. They didn't see the humour in it.

What made up most of the rear wall of the craft was a massive drawbridge-like door which lowered to create a wide ramp. The cog engines groaned as they lowered the great door on to the dusty and rocky ground. The group cautiously exited into the night air they were met with a howling wind and uncomfortable dust irritation. Several of the men and women pulled on their protective goggles over their eyes and pulled up their neck-a-chiefs up and over their noses. Deryn walked out into the night air and walked to edge of the light that a series powerful floodlights projected. She cocked her head from side-to-side listening after a few moments she tuned back to them and nodded.

With the go-ahead the group moved into a loose semicircle only communication was through either hand signals or brief radio instructions. Alek swung his rifle searching for any hostile targets he came along side Deryn.

"Anything?" he asked.

"There's something out there but to far way to be sure what it is. Apart from that nothing that could pose much of a threat," she replied.

"Alright I want you to do a perimeter sweep and report back with anything," He said.

"Aye," she replied and in a blur of movement vanished into the night.

Alek turned back to the five or so technicians forming behind the semicircle of armed men. He walked up to them and said. "Right Prowler says were clear so you can begin work on what needs to be done. Ok?" he said to chief engineer a burly man in his mid-fifties with curly black hair nodded and led his colleagues around the side of the hulking beast of metal.

Alek pointed to seven of the twenty armed guards to remain behind and protect the door with Newkirk the rest coming with Alek to protect the engineers. On the edge of the top deck of the St Clair were bright flood lights that illuminated there path; it also lit the battle-cruiser up like a Christmas tree. The group of engineers stopped between the two back right legs where the rear right stabilizer sat.

The St Clair looked like a massive crouched spider with a body that resembled a Battleship with the main difference being that the hull was wider, thicker and less streamline as well as three layers of gangways lining its flanks. The top of the Walker was like a mountain range of gun turrets and low stacked structure stating low at the front and then rising sharply to the tallest mountain of steel that was the bridge and radio tower. From there it descended to a brief flat and up again for the a secondary structure that housed two rows of missile silos and something else and at the back resting on top of that was a rotatable quad barrelled long range cannon after that the exhaust stacks came where white wisps of steam drizzled out.

Beneath all this was the vehicle bay barracks, mess hall/ kitchens, munitions and magazine storage and cargo holds. Not just designed for troop deployment and transport but the ship was also designed to be a giant mobile home.

While the engineers worked Alek found himself drifting around the perimeter his men had erected. The job was expected to be a few short hours but Alek had found in the two years of his command that repairs rarely went on schedule.

**2 miles west of the Marauder:**

The figure stood on the rocky hill overlooking the illuminated iron beast. Most of his body was wrapped in a thick desert shawl and he watching the St Clair through a pair of battered binoculars. He grabbed a big brick like radio from his belt and spoke quickly to someone on the other end. The response came and the figure gave his location and a description of the St Clair. A brief minute later and his superiors reported back. A smile crossed the man's face and thanked the person on the other end before cutting the connection.

He turned away from it and looked down the opposite side of the knoll. On the other side at the bottom were four buggy-like vehicles. They were squat and the wheels strutted out of the round centre body on bouncy suspension. The driver sat in a rounded roll cage with the engine directly behind under the gunner's platform that was raised slightly above the roll cage to accommodate the heavy machine gun. If one was to look at the engines they would think not much of it due to the fact that it was quite small and rusted. But the engine was deceiving it may be small but its power outlet was phenomenal add that to its easily repairable nature and that it was strapped to a very light body made it perfect for fast reconnaissance or attack.

The commander jogged down the hill jumping onto the lead buggy's side looping his arm though one of the cross bars. He then pointed at the St Clair and roared a charging command to his troops who responded in kind as the buggies belted off. Their red headlights blazing the trail ahead like nightmarish beasts.


	3. Chapter 3

_The Kaiser gave a solemn order to prevent his countries fall. In secret the Clankers unleashed their greatest weapon ever._ _Dozens were used to light the east and scorch the west. And for the first time man brought the sun to the earth._

The sparks from the welders and grinders fluttered down lazily and the sound of work echoed through the desert air. Several mechanics had repelled down the armoured flank of the land ship to reach the damage the ladders could not reach. Massive flood lights had been extended over the side from their mounts on the edge of the top deck and illuminated the area in bright glow. Tyers could not support a ship of this size and even so they would not offer the mobility that the St Clair's Clanker made octopod mobility system could. Eight massive armour-clad legs could move the Battleship across the land with relative easy.

Alek was leaning up against one of the massive legs while the engineers worked on repairing the stabilizer that rested where the leg connected to the ship when he heard a distant howling. At first he thought it was some lost animal but then he saw the glowing red of what he now realised were headlights.

_Reavers _he thought as a chill ran up his spine. For the past three days after leaving the Libya-Egypt demilitarised zone the Battleship had travelled through the Sahara unhindered. But now the evidence of them entering raider territory was clear from the burnt out wrecks of vehicles and sun-bleached corpses. This only solidified Alek's fears.

The men around him were also beginning to notice the incoming threat. He looked at their fear full faces and began yelling orders.

"Everyone form up and protect the Engineers, wait till there within range," He barked just as a static washed voice came from his radio. 

"Commander," crackled the voice.

"I'm here," Alek responded trying to hide the fear from his voice.

"Sir, were picking up multiple contacts on radar."

"I see them," said Alek, "Can we get any artillery on their position?"

"The guns have lost power and we don't have the time to get them ready manually."

"What about the Gatling guns?" Alek asked hopefully as he looked back at the charging reavers.

"Down for repairs," came for the response.

"_Scheiße,_" he swore under his breathe,"Alrightbatten down the hatches, secure the civilians and get me some reinforcements!"

"Aye, Sir," And the radio clicked off.

"How long is this going to take!" Alek, yelled at the engineers.

"Not long now, Sir. Just need a minute to seal up the crack and we should be done here," replied the chief engineer.

'_We may not have minute' _thought Alek as he looked back at the screaming mechanical demons approaching them.

The lead buggy roared over the hard, cracked earth speeding towards its victims. Its occupants crying out in utter joy preparing for the kill unaware of the ghostly hunter speeding towards the pack.

The leader of the raider group now bearing down on the St Clair was more experienced than his cohort and could manage his drug induced bloodlust. He knew that despite being crippled by their chaff mine the massive walker could still pose a threat.

While his compatriots roared and yelled he gave a quick second to check the surroundings of the pack for sighs of a trap. Seeing nothing he returned to the thrill of the hunt.

If only he had looked a little longer he would have seen the rear vehicle experience some difficulties.

Deryn shot down from the inky night like an angel of death smashing into the rear vehicles cockpit. It crumpled under her extreme velocity killing the driver instantly and completely shattering the engine. The two front wheels tore off and continued to trundle along as their momentum carried them. The gunner landed a few meters away in front of the wreck having been catapulted from his platform as the vehicle collapsed. Deryn took a few seconds to recover before launching back into the hunt with the speed of a cheetah blood pumping and muscles straining to match the roaring speed demons. Had the other engines not drowned out the sound of impact the other reavers might have heard their comrade's screams.

"We've got it," yelled one of the Engineers in triumph.

"Good," replied Alek, "Now get to cover!"

Alek took up position in the middle of the line of determined men and women each who had their weapon up against their shoulder aimed at the charging monsters speeding towards them. Alek was about to give the order to fire when one of the vehicles vanished completely and a second erupted into a mushroom cloud of fire and smoke. Most of the people watching were just in the process of asking what had happened when another car seemed to have been tossed into air by some unseen force. One word came to Alek's mind as he thought of what had happened:

'_Deryn'_

The buggy right next to theirs blew off its right side and into the air tumbling as it went. Its unfortunate occupants had looks of absolute shock sprawled on their scarred faces as they flew over their commander's head. The leader was just about to order the retreat when a lone figure appeared into the head light gaze directly ahead. There was no time to stop or swerve. It seemed as though time slowed down to a crawl. The commander looked at the figure and could just see a pair piercing blue eyes beneath a hood.

'_Fair enough,' _thought the commander and then as a side thought_, 'I wonder if it will hurt.' _He flew up into the air having been catapulted from the rolling buggy awaiting his first glimpse of paradise.

Deryn simply stepped into the vehicles path and braced herself for impact. And through shear will alone she stood standing as the buggy smashed into her. The force of impact drove her back several metered and her feet dug deep and dredged up the ground as she tried to push against the momentum of the crumpled buggies. Its wheels tore off and its passengers were flung out of their seats high into the air. Even as she crawled out of the wreckage limping you could still hear their screams as they plummeted back to earth. One crashed a few meters away sending up a cloud of dust, another landed on an outcropping of rocks and a sickening crack could be heard as its head split open. Deryn looked up into the sky watching the final reaver fall, stepping back two paces as the raider landed right where she had been with a sickening 'splat'.

The man looked up at her pleadingly as he gurgled on his own blood. Suddenly the man's body jerked and broke out in spasm in its last defiance of death, then just as suddenly as it started it stopped and the man gave one final gasp before becoming as still as a rock.

Deryn grasped for her bloodied abdomen and roared through gritted teeth at the pain. She started towards the Battleship limping on her left foot. Her left arm hanged uselessly at her side.

Alek ran full pelt towards her from the safety of the St Clair. He just reached before she collapsed in to his arms she was barely conscious. He carried her back the way he came bridal style past the gawping men and women who were astonished at the fact that she was still alive from her injuries. Newkirk barged people out of the way as Alek hurriedly carried Deryn towards her cell. Somewhere along the way one of Deryn's arms fell off but a wide-eyed child who had been pushed to the side picked it and handed it to Alek who thanked him sheepishly.

"Alek," She muttered drowsily through a blood caked face he knew he didn't have much time.

As they entered the cold space he laid her down on her back and turned to Newkirk who handed him a large sack of bloody meat placing it beside her face. Her eyes lit up and nostrils flared like a hungry lion. He held her bloodied head and looked deep into her eyes she looked to but it was no longer Deryn; the monster was in command.

"Alek… run," She said her voice mimicking a sound that Alek could only think of as demonic. Something black pooled into her eyes turning them into two orbs of onyx that seemed to ooze menace.

He backed out of the armoured cage steeping back as the two guards closed the thick door with a heavy clang. He then placed his head against the small circular window that peered in on the small room. Deryn roared and launched onto the fresh meat tearing and ripping at it before bolting it down whole. The affect was instant; bones knitted together, skin and muscle grew back. She healed fast and before long she had eaten all of the food. She stalked around the perimeter of the cell before launching at the small window peering out at Alek with predator desire.

Without looking away from Alek pressed a button on the door control which activated a steel iris which closed around the glass of the window locking Alek away from Deryn. She would remain in a state of pure primitiveness for until her adrenalin levels dropped and her wounds healed. He turned away from the door and looked at Newkirk with a look of utter fatigue. He dismissed the guards and after they had gone his legs gave out and he slumped down the door to the ground.

Her eyes still bored into his mind.

Newkirk fumbled with shaking hands a packet of cigarettes. He rarely showed his stash considering the value they possessed and instead he mostly rolled his own and used whatever herbs he could buy. After retrieving a severely crumpled packet he replaced it and then lit the cigarette and began taking slow drags from it. Newkirk leaned across and offered it to him.

"She'd kill me if she found," said Alek with a small smile.

"I think she's a little distracted at the moment," Newkirk replied as something banged against the cell wall. Alek sighed and accepted the cigarette and took a long drag.

"What are we doing?" asked Alek in a tired yet relaxed voice.

"What you had to do, mate. You saved as many as you could."

"I guess."

"Guess nothing it's the truth," said Newkirk before patting Alek on the shoulder and then walking back down the corridor.

Alek sat there a while listening to growls and cries before standing up and stumbling back to his cabin. His dreams are haunted by what could have been and would have been while Deryn's are fuelled by the fires of a hundred airships caught alight and the pain of what they did to her deep in the bowels of the London Zoo.


	4. Chapter 4

_Sixteen years ago the Great War started and in the pits of fire and ash they found each other. Then the red plague came which brought empires to their knees and lead to the day of suns. Britain watches the irradiated fires of Western Europe plotting while in the East a Scarlet Queen looks to America and dreams of conquest._

The next three days became a blur of night watch and bitter coffee for Alek until a new morning came bringing with it a bright and harsh light that streamed over the St Clair's battered and scorched body. Men and women scurried through the networks of corridors of maintenance tubes that made up the land-ship's innards as they worked through the day-to-day jobs of keeping the immense metal hulk moving. After discovering evidence that the damage had come from an old Ottoman chaff mine the watch had been redoubled and the St Clair's speed was slowed for fear of other hidden dangers the desert hid.

Alek awoke with a soft groan of discomfort at the blades of daylight that slashed across his face. He sat up with his legs dangling over the edge of the small yet comfortable double bed and looked around his quite spacious quarters. Command did have its perks. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and moved dreamily from the small bunkroom into the small en-suite bathroom. After several minutes of going through his morning routine of showering and shaving Alek emerged onto the Bridge of the St Clair with a cracked enamel cup of coffee and sat in the command chair at the centre of the wide box-shaped room.

It was a simple design with the command chair at the centre of it all with Helm and Navigation each with their own terminal designed for each's own purpose at the very front placed on a slightly lower platform with a perfect view of the surrounding land through the bullet and shock-proof windows that wrapped around the forward half of the bridge. On either side of Alek command desk were the stations for communication and weapon coordination. Shafts of burnt orange light sliced through the front windshield partially blinding Alek as he came from the dull interior of the lumbering crafts dull interior to the harsh light of the outside.

"Lieutenant Browne, ship status if you please," Said Alek stifling a yawn.

"Ship Status, aye, Sir. Engineering reports all is well with fuel down to sixty-three percent, civilian populace in order no new developments, Sir, apart from the last incursion," said a young lieutenant sitting at the comms station.

"Thank you. Weapons what's the news with those chain-guns?" Asked Alek as he examined an inventory of the ships supplies.

"Sir, Chief Davis should have them operational by 1300 today," said the weapons officer.

"Excellent work," Alek said before reaching forward flicking through a series of steel switches and plastic capped toggles that accompanied by a series of monotone cathode ray screens which showed a number of different readouts from a frequency monitor to the eerie green glow of a radar bar that continually revolved in a circle and mercifully remained clear. He reached up for the Radio console, grabbed the corded phone and switched the radio to P.A mode.

A deep klaxon sounded and Alek spoke "Now here this," his voice boomed through the ship thanks to a system of speakers, "As of last night's events I am placing the ship under yellow alert. For those making passage on our vessel that simply means that you keep your head down and let the crew do what they need to do. This is enemy territory and we must remain vigilant," the Klaxon sounded again and the P.A fell silent and the St Clair thundered on across the hot arid land, its legs pumping like pistons cracking the dry earth beneath each foot fall. Choking dust swirled and waved in its wake and the massive sun climbed ever high into the blue cloudless heavens.

The message came first then a small black dot appeared on the horizon and gradually grew closer and larger. Its long streamlined body was covered in thick armour that was bolted to the hard skin. A flying sperm whale was the best description ever given for the airship. Hanging beneath and stitched into the flanks and dorsal line of the behemoth was a complex network of gondolas, walkways and rat lines and gun emplacements. The front of the ships prow was naturally angular due to whale shape however the designers had felt that this could be enhanced in some way. A piece of sharp plated armour ran down the length of the prow making it look like a blade gliding through the air. It was very nostalgic of pervious Darwinist warships before the Collapse. The shapes of people moving along the surface of the great hydrogen breather could be seen in the bright desert light.

There was however one addition however: engines for these aircraft were normally simple electric motivation motors to aid the ships main form of propulsion; the hair-like cilia that grew along the animals flanks were instead replaced with two massive Clanker based engines that were attached somewhere near the middle of the ship. They belched thick black smoke that poured out of two massive exhaust pipes and left a constant pall of smoke in its wake. An angry swarm of gyrocopters broke off from their berths that were slung on the underside of the ship and moved with insect precision and began circling the St Clair with a menacing intent.

General quarters was sounded and the airship demanded that the St Clair cut engines and prepare to be boarded.

"Now what?" asked Deryn lazily through the dark.

"How should I know," replied Alek.

"It's your bloody ship," said Deryn.

"Yeah, but I'm not the one with the super hearing now am I," Alek said pointedly. Deryn was about to reply when the P.A got in first.

"Commander Alek your presences is required on the Bridge we have made contact with the Freestates."

Alek flopped out of his bed and fumbled through the dark for the window shutters. Noon light fled in and Deryn recoiled and covered her face with her arms and let out involuntary growl at the blinding light.

Ah, ya bumrag," she moaned and rolled over and covered up under the covers.

"Sorry," mumbled Alek as he fumbled for his clothes which had been carelessly tossed about the cabin. He kissed Deryn quickly and ran out the door and towards the Bridge. He clambered through the bulkhead and stood next to Newkirk who was leaning against the railing staring up out the windows at the beast that hovered above the battleship menacingly.

"Commander on Deck!" roared Newkirk with a smart salute. Which the bridge officers mimicked with practiced ease.

"At ease. Eugene, what have we got," said Alek all business now. He strode over to his friend, craned his neck over the railing and stared up.

"Sir, an Leviathan-class warship bearing the Freestates crest is being a real arse at the moment and demanding we hold and await a team to arrive and perform quarantine check," said Newkirk.

"Strange it's using the inefficient Champion diesel engines not the military Areödimes," said Deryn who was leaning over the railing and staring intently at the ship above.

"Guess the Free State coffers are running dry," said Newkirk with a grin.

"Or this is not a Freestates ship either way I don't want to piss them off more than they already are. Deryn stay out of sight and keep watch while me and Newkirk go above and greet our visitors." Deryn nodded at Alek her eyes telling him to be safe and left down the corridor.

Alek turned to his bridge crew. "Ensign Lloyd, tell the gun crews to ready all AA guns and have a squad of rocketeers stand ready for the slightest twitch of trouble. Browne inform engineering to be ready to re-engage the drive shafts I want to be able to pull away at the command. Understood," Alek ordered.

A chorus of aye-ayes followed.

The Airship hovered over the St Clair like a comical angry cloud as both vehicles engine smoke began to mingle in the sweltering air. The top deck of the St Clair was a massive mountain range of metal that peaked in the middle where the bridge and conning tower rose above everything. Bulky steel encased artillery turrets sat silent while crews manned the smaller AA batteries that were loaded with incendiary rounds aimed at the flammable airship.

Unlike the flat deck of a navy ship that would use the flat surface to run any spray or rain off the surface the St Clair had a series of trenches built into the decks surface enabling marksmen, rocketeers and engineers to move freely around on top with relative safety. Rain water was collected from the trenches through grates in the floor and sent the boilers and purifiers; not a drop could be wasted when traveling across the wastes of the Sahara.

At the back of the ship past the smoke stacks and practically hanging off the stern was the landing platform and mooring tower. It was basically a large flat circle that had been marked with white lines marking its boundaries. It was meant for air drops and gyrocopters but in this case it would be used to moor the airships fly lift which would ferry the visitors from their airship. Alek raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun as he looked up at the stationary sky whale.

The lift was a stout metal cylinder that cruised down its cable with mechanical ease. Once it reached the landing platform the door opened and a squad of…well to Alek they looked like a suit of medieval armour had leapt to life on its own. The figures were encased in a bulky grey armour that left not an inch of exposed skin. Massive gas powered bolt-cannons rested in their owner's iron-clad grip. The knights lumbered out and formed a tightly formed semi-circle around the lift's entrance. One of the knights whose armoured body was adored with gold emblems stepped out from the formation and stood in front of Alek. A steel clad-hand reached up and switched a catch under the 'knights' visor and it came away with a hiss of air. Underneath was scared, piggish face set in the way of someone who looked like he had been born for war.

The flat faced unshaven man-bear gave a sniff looked about and then stepped aside before saying: "Sir, area is secured," in a crisp South African accent. From behind the towering giant of armour and flesh stepped a tall woman clad in a sand-coloured aviator uniform with silver shoulder-guards glinting in the sun. Pinned to the left of her chest was a small insignia Alek recognised as the symbol for a captain of the Helios Guard. A Helios guard meant that this woman was part of what was the British Empire's name for their organisation that operated as agents in the colonies; they were known as the modern inquisition.

This helped explain the hydrogen breather above as the Freestaes were not know to possess them; many fabrications outside the British colonies had fallen to either the virus of conflict. The ship's crew had either been captured or more likely joined willingly.

The woman stood barley an inch shorter than Alek and had her light brown hair cut short and regarded Alek with a cool gaze. There was a moment as both summed each other up before the woman broke eye contact and surveyed the Battleship.

"I assume that you are the commander of this vessel?" asked the woman with an African accent Alek could not place.

"I am, and who may I ask are you?" asked Alek. "Captain Cassandra Ardis of the F.S.S Steenbok and this is Commander Hopkins of the Steenbok's paratrooper regiment," said the captain gesturing to the airship above her and beast-man beside her.

"And what can I, but a humble merchant, do for a captain of the Freestates air service and a commander of the legendary Goshawks," said Alek in a voice with a measured tone of friendship.

"A 'humble merchant' is that what you describe yourself as," said the captain with a slight smile. "Please I bet you don't even fall in with those desert crawlers with such an impressive ship."

"Well everyone's got to make a living, times being what they are," said Alek still keeping up the niceties.

"Commander Hopkins was quite vocal on simply crippling your ship and scavenging what remained," said woman gesturing to the iron giant beside her who grunted. Her voice still held a pleasant aura but behind it something sharp rested.

"Well I'm glad something stopped you. It would be too bad if we had to meet under such trying circumstances," said Alek his patience for pleasantries running thinner and thinner with every syllable.

"Of course I didn't pay any attention to his advice… well not after a noticed the uniqueness of your ship. I mean it's not too often that one encounters a _Man O War-class Warlord._ An airship would be unwise to turn one of those against them," the captain said.

"Shame you didn't heed that advice," Newkirk said giving Alek time to regain his mental composer.

The captain looked Newkirk up and down taking in the weathered boiler suit tied off at the waist and grubby vest and oil marked face. "And you are?" the woman asked.

"Newkirk, Eugene Newkirk."

"And what exactly do you do here Mister Newkirk?" the woman asked .

"Oh, bits and pieces mostly, but sometimes I have to deal in removing complications that crop up from time to time," his tone was flat and he stared at Captain Cassandra with an unwavering gaze. Commander Hopkins seemed too move slightly as one iron-clad fig drifted over his guns trigger guard. "Now, how about we all cut the niceties and pleasantries and get down to the real meat."

"I admire your directness it is so refreshing from the normal riff-raff that we usually deal with," said Cassandra, "Since Cairo fall droves of refugees have been crossing the Sahara and into the grasslands and central forests. We have a real rat problem approaching our gate and so our leaders have ordered its military to monitor all incoming traffic. We don't want a repeat of Istanbul."

Alek's knuckles were white at the way the woman casually referred to over two million people as nothing but vermin. He had witnessed Cairo's final days and the stream of scared and desperate people leaving their homes and out into the harsh deserts and dry grasslands to the south.

"Rat problem now that's an interesting term for it," said Deryn, she sat perched on top of the sky lifts roof picking at her finger nails with her prised riggers knife. Her hood was up and cast dark shadows over her face in the bright sunlight. There had been nothing but a blur of movement to indicate her arrival.

The armoured guards started to raise weapons but Cassandra raised a hand halting the guards.

"Certainly a day for meeting new people," muttered the captain. She turned from Deryn and back to Alek with a questioning face, "You have your own Novis Sapien. Now that is something,"

"Ma'am the situation escalating. Suggest we move-" Commander Hopkins started but was cut off.

"No. I believe the good 'merchant' here doesn't want things to come to anything serous just yet. He still wants to be accepted into the safety of the Freestates with as little trouble as possible," said the captain her casual and slightly smug voice was maddening.

"Your intentions here are to assess this ship's passengers," said Alek.

"Correct. We are trying to prevent over-population, we barely have enough food for our current populace," said Cassandra.

"Yet two million people are trekking towards you in search of help."

"What would you have us do? Open our grain stores welcoming in more hungry mouths to feed on the verge of delirium and all carrying their own assorted ailments."

"Better them leaving them to die out here," Alek almost shouted gesturing to the hot arid landscape.

"You think we take pleasure in this. As you said times have changed and hard choices must be made," Commander Hopkins said this his mean eyes staring at Alek who could not find an answer.

"Can you offer my passengers a place in the Freestates?" said Alek eventually.

"Space is limited we can only take hundred thousand roughly yet you do have a ship so speed is on your side." Said Cassandra. "I can-" but a deep klaxon from above cut her off followed by another from the St Clair. Alek was confused for a second then recognised the horn for general quarters. Deryn simply smiled beneath her hood and stood up on the roof of the fly lift. Just off the port bow of the St Clair a massive wall of dust was rolling towards them.

Commander Hopkins was first to react.

"Marines, pak verdediging!" he barked in Afrikaans. Various horns sounded off from above as the main mooring cables detached and swing back up to the airship.

"Sorry 'merchant', but we'll have to finish this later!" shouted Cassandra over the din.

The knights moved as one surrounding Cassandra and levelled their weapons outwards. As one they stepped back with Cassandra already striding into the elevator. Deryn hopped down and stood next to Alek. There was the sound of cables releasing from their moorings and the elevator shot up into the belly of the airship.

"Well that was interesting," said Alek drily.

"Cheer-up I think they like us. Come on," said Deryn as she turned and headed back to the bridge with the others in pursuit.

"I thought I said to stay out of sight," said Alek as he ran to catch up.

"They would have found out from the passengers eventually. Most of them think I'm some sort of demon anyway, they'd probably be happy to see the miss inquisitor," she said over her shoulder.

"Still," said Alek.

_Steenbok_ had already gained altitude and was accelerating with its Clanker engines billowing black smoke towards the growing dust cloud. The trio moved onto the bridge where they returned the officers salutes.

"Browne: report," Alek ordered.

"Sir, spotters report a large contingent of ground vehicles moving out of the dust storm in our direction," said the comms officer with a corded phone held to one ear, "Sir, Reports now coming in of large shapes within the dust."

Newkirk looked through a pair of binoculars and stared out at the approaching dust storm. As the wind changed several dark shapes emerged. Massive treads pounded the ground and thick engine smoke swirled in the afternoon light as seven large sand barges emerged from the swirling dust. Each barges was about half the length of the St Clair and were indeed thundering towards the battleship. The barges were designed with the twin hull design of a catamaran with a shape wedge-shape prow pushing any obstacles out the way of the caterpillar tracks that ran underneath the hulls. The top of each barge was flat made for transport while the bridge was held aloft by two massive arms that suspended the bridge above the top deck. Figures could be seen moving on the surface readying batteries of rocket and artillery guns.

Skirting in-between the titans of metal drove a contingent of attack vehicles raging from speedy buggies to armoured half-tacks. Battle wakers ran through the armoured divisions in a wide looping gait that reminded Deryn of a family of gorilla.

"It's a whole barking fleet," whispered Newkirk with astonishment in his eyes as he passed the binoculars to Alek.

"Must be where the raiders from before came from," said Alek looking through the binoculars.

"Aye, one of those raiders must have given their superiors are last location and they've been tracking us since," said Deryn who was looking through her own spyglass, a present from an old friend, "Distance," she asked the head Navigation Officer.

"About elven miles, ma'am," replied the Nav officer, "those buggies will be within range in ten minutes.

"Alright, buckle up," said Alek moving into his command chair, "Helm bring her up to forty miles and get us some distance we won't engage unless we have to. Weapons, alert to general quarters we are at battle-ready one." All around bridge officers began issuing orders down speaking tubes.

There was a series of loud thumps as dive shafts moved back into position and the sound of metal screeching and groaning as the engines engaged the legs. The ship eased forward into the slow walk but quickly found a rhythm as the legs thundered forward. The whips of steam from the exhaust were swiftly replaced with the familiar black smoke as the engines started humming with the sound of pistons shunting and heat rising. Down in the hot and humid engine room burley sweat sodden figures hauled on levers and eyed all sorts of gauges watching as the thin needles rose.

Alarm bells sounded all across the ship as men and women moved to combat positions. Gun crews loaded shells, fed belts of ammunition into the Gatling guns and took in range calculations and adjusted accordingly. Marksmen slapped fresh magazines into their rifles and began to focus their scopes. Rocketeers began strapping on heavy fire-proof armour and ramming their explosive ordnance into their bulky launchers.

"Helm, move us 15 degrees south, by south, east we'll try to lose them in those hills," said Alek pointing towards a series of rocky hills ahead of them.

"Aye, answering heading 15 south, by south, east," said the helmsman began making adjustment to a series of levers and saunters in front of him and slowly the ship started to turn.

"Sir, I have a Captain Ardis of the Steenbok for you," said Lieutenant Browne. Alek took his own corded phone from its cradle above his chair and motioned for the lieutenant to patch it through to his station.

"What can I do for you Captain?" asked Alek.

"I apologise that are pleasant meeting had to come to such an abrupt end, commander," said Captain Ardis.

"Nothing you could do about it, Captain," said Alek who had just noticed the sound of buzzing propellers. He leaned forward and looked up to see the Steenbok slowly come above the St Clair and match speeds.

"Didn't know we would be getting an escort, captain," said Alek still staring up at the airship.

"On the contrary…I'm sorry but I didn't catch your name."

"It's, Alek," said Alek who was acutely aware of a fleet of marauders bearing down on him and that an agent of the British Empire was questioning him on his identity.

"Last name?" queried Cassandra.

"That's a bit complicated and I would waste valuable minutes explaining it to you. Now if you would please explain why you are matching are direction if you do not intend on escorting us."

"Of course, Alek," the way she rolled Alek's name around her mouth made Alek take a deep breathe just to rein himself in, "We would be glad to offer you a place in the Freestates if you would do us the favour of helping eradicating these vermin."

Alek paused trying to think if he had misheard. "You're saying you'll guarantee us entry if we help you destroy that whole fleet," said Alek incredulously.

"In short yes. This is the largest marauder land fleet in the region perhaps in the whole of North Africa and they have pose a significant threat to our borders. It's time to put them down."

"With all due respect I'll be putting innocence at risk," he said slowly.

"In order to give them a ticket into the Freestates," Alek felt a hand rest on his shoulder and he turned to see Deryn looking down at him. She would have heard what the captain had said her hearing would have allowed her so. She gave him an assuring nod and that was enough for Alek he supposed for at least one them needed to keep hope.

"Captain, how do I know you'll keep your word?" Alek asked.

"I'm afraid you don't," came the honest response. Thoughts raced through his head as he realised that this was a chance to save the refugees that were down in the hold as well as his own crew. His promises needed to be kept.

"You'll get your support," said Alek wearing a grim expression.

"Excellent," said Cassandra, "Oh and Alek once this is over I'll be wanting to know why the most dangerous creatures on the planet is living on your ship."

"That depends on your intentions next we meet and whether either of us survives," Alek said before he switched the radio back into P.A mode and spoke to his crew and passengers. "Now hear this, I have been offered the chance to get you all to safety within the Freestates but in order to earn passage we must help them destroy an enemy fleet of raiders," he paused to let that sink in. down below in the holds and workings of the ship people paused and listened.

"Now I would not blatantly risk this ship or its inhabitants if I didn't think it would benefit us greatly, but in the case of this offer I feel it is a risk worth taking. Now I promised I would get you to safety and right now this our best chance. I am declaring us at red alert all hands we are now at war. Obey your orders keep your heads down and we'll get through this," he switched off the P.A and in a tired way replaced the telephone and leaned back into his chair rubbing his eyes.

A giggle was heard and he looked down two see two glowing eyes looking up at him through a ventilation grate next to his chair. He reached down and lifted the grate and something furry climbed out and scrambled up his arm to rest on his shoulder. The creature looked at Alek with big old eyes and _smiled_.

"Any wise words would be good now," Alek asked the creature known as Bovril.

It giggled and then said something softly into Alek's ear in the voice of someone Alek had not seen in years, "Let others wage war. You, lucky Austrian shall marry," whispered Volger with a smile playing at his lips and a hole through his chest.

Alek turned from the creature and looked at the faces of his bridge officers all awaiting orders, "wise words indeed," he said to Bovril, "But not today," his voice was soft and filled with regret.

He stood up and addressed his officers directly, "Helm bring her hard to port and go to full ahead. Navigation direct us onto a Collison course with the lead barge. Lieutenant Lloyd tell all artillery to target the walkers and armoured trucks first, will leave the smaller craft to Gatling guns. Lieutenant Browne inform the Steenbok that we'll charge the enemy fleet and break through their formation and cut them off from each other, let's trim these bastards down to size."

Alerts sounded across the ship and there was sound of metal groaning as the ship began to turn hard. Two legs skidded on the loose ground as the wake of smoke and dust enveloped the battleship, there was a moment of serenity between the two opposing forces.

Then it all went to hell. The St Clair charged forward its legs pumping like the pistons that drove it onwards while the Steenbok's engines roared to life turning the propellers that torn at the air.

Its escort of gyrocopters had broken away from the protection of their mother ship and were now speeding towards the enemy fleet. A horn could be heard and an angry swirling black mass suddenly launched off the skin of the Steenbok and began swirling and warping through the air like a million strong flock of sparrows; the flechette bats had been released.

The sun had completed its zenith and was now lowering itself into the late afternoon the dust that had been cast up turned the sky a brunt orange hue and not a cloud drifted across the wide open sky.

Deryn stood at the prow of the ship looking at the approaching fleet. The wind was strong and the sun was behind her. She could almost pretend she was flying. Her eyes pooled black and a smile played at her lips.

There is an old saying: War, war never changes


	5. Chapter 5

**A universal thankyou to Terry Pratchett the man who inspired my love of reading farewell Sir Terry you were an inspiration **

**-the turtle moves**

_Once he was a scared little boy. But then he went to war and the black fires that he found there burned the boy away. Now something different stands in the boys place._

The St Clair clawed at the ground relentlessly while the Steenbok seemed to swim through the air the great hydrogen breather's body curling and bending as it flew through the air. The fleet of raiders had turned to face the St Clair and were getting closer by the second.

In the distant you could see the raiders releasing powder flares into the sky. White smoke trails shot up and then exploded into a spiking cloud of bright reds, yellows and blues while flags and banners adorned the flanks and masts of the barges with frightful images of monsters and demons.

On the other side the battlefield the Duke's son readied his machines of war while his wide-eyed advisor whispered secrets into his ear. Below the steaming decks shuddered and quaked from the engines that forced the towering legs into action. Steam drifted up through the grates in the floor and a hooded figure calmed her racing heart and wipes her sweaty hands on her grubby fatigues. Her eyes are luminous orbs of sky blue that remind people of a clear winter sky with frost glazing the ground. Those kind eyes hold a darkness at their edges that is patiently waiting.

Above in the creaking gentle sway of an airship underway men scampered across the ratlines and readied bombs and fed belts of heavy bolts into their gas powered air guns. Far way on the other side the raiders cheered and roared at the prospect of what treasures they would plunder from the St Clair.

The lead buggies fell first their frail bodies while good for speed were nothing more than paper to the heavy rounds that spewed out the St Clair's Gatling guns. They erupted into the flame as the St Clair ploughed on crushing those who missed the bullets under its iron-clad feet. Alek moved from the comfort of the bridge to the lookout that lay atop the bridge with Bovril still sitting on his shoulder. The lookout provided 360° degree view of the St Clair and the surrounding lands. Alek closed his eyes for a moment savouring the smell of the desert and head wind but the sounds of explosions brought him back to reality.

The telephone that was strapped to the radio mast the towered above all and poked through the centre of the lookout began to ring. Alek lifted it from its cradle, "I'm going with Newkirk," came Deryn voice.

"I don't think there's a force on earth that could stop you, my dear," said Alek his voice raised against the howling wind.

"He's readying the Bear now," she said, "You up in the crow's nest?"

"It's beautiful up here," he said looking out under wide deep blue sky. Bovril whispered something in his ear, "Bovril says hello by the way."

"Take care of him for me beastie," came her reply.

"Me and Bovril can handle things from here just take of yourself and make sure Newkirk doesn't blow himself up," Alek said.

"I'll try," she said in a playful tone and then in softer ones, "Keep safe."

"Always," he replied in an equally tender voice.

With that he replaced the receiver and absently heard the rear cargo ramp start to lower. The captain was right to think the St Clair was dangerous just not for the reason she might think.

High above and far away the Gyrocopters had begun their strafing runs of the barges. Glass windscreens shattered and figures who were exposed toppled over their bodies riddled with freshly made holes. The copters were fast and nibble with their twin engine dragonfly-like design. They banked and dived avoiding the sprays of AA fire with such fine precision. The pilots ordered their gunners to switch to phosphorous shells and soon they were stitching the top decks with blazing white fire. The barges tops are alight, but the streams of AA fire intensified and two gyrocopters that got caught in the streams of lead were torn apart in mid-air. With more loses imminent the Gyrocopters were ordered to retreated back to their mother ship to refuel and recover.

Cassandra watched the battle unfold from her lofty perch where it seemed so far way and clinical. She so rarely smelled the cordite and smoke and blood and in a way she prefers it that way. Being there in the thick of it does not require a tactician it simply requires someone with a drive to do what needs to done. An officer pulled her from her thoughts.

"Ma'am, I think you should take a look at this there's something happening on that Mann O war," said an officer looking down through a pair of binoculars.

Cassandra moved over to the railing and looked down at the St Clair in time to something that is utterly bewildering. The rear launch bay was opening. It stopped half open the door running parallel with the ground the great gears groaning under the strain of holding the armoured ramp in position. Then something extraordinary happened; from out of the black interior of the rear launch bay four head lights burst to life and something big and unyielding flew out of the dark.

"What in the world," she muttered.

The Bear was Newkirk's baby. He had rescued it from a junk yard when the three of them escaped out of Belgium and since then it had served him well. It was in essence a tank and a very old tank at that. It was a more advanced version of the first Mk V tanks built by a British manufacturing company before they capitulated unable to compete with the cheaper labour that fabrications provided.

The tank was armed with two massive six inch pounder guns and two machine guns at the front and one that covered the tail. The craft was covered in four-inch armour plating but thanks to its powerful Rolls-Royce liquid cooled 12 cylinder engine could, for its size and weight, travel astonishingly high speeds. Newkirk and his crew of seven would provide a form of protection to the St Clair; while the St Clair's big guns would focus on the barges Newkirk and his crew would target the walkers and smaller craft that lay on outside of the raider fleet.

Deryn moved through the hangar at a jog while all around her crewmen went about the business of securing equipment and arming themselves to repel potential borders. She reached the Bear and brushed one hand over the stunning artwork of a Russian fighting bear looking towards the front of the tank bearing its teeth in a silent roar; Alek had said it was her best yet. Newkirk was kneeling on top of the craft helping the others heft heavy shells for the guns through the top hatch. He stood up when he noticed her approach and extended a hand to help haul her up to which she accepted and in brisk motion was standing beside him on top of the heavy beast of burden.

"Hell of a day," he commented as he began to roll a cigarette.

"It's eating him up, Newkirk," she said gesturing to the people that moved through the launch bay with a clear yet anxious purpose.

"Course it is, he's carrying the whole barking ship on his shoulder," he said through gritted teeth that had the cigarette clamped. He fumbled over his many pockets for his lighter then gave up and used a blowtorch that rested next to his feet.

"Aye, but surely he knows he doesn't have to do it alone," said Deryn who absently leaned away as a gout of blue flame erupted from the blowtorch.

"He knows but to him this is still his responsibility," Said Newkirk who killed the torch took a few puffs of his homemade and began to lower himself through the hatch leaving Deryn on top.

"You ready for this?" he asked to which she simply rolled up her sleeves and nodded.

He vanished below the hatch, closed it and moved up to the front just behind the driver and forward gunner taking his seat and adjusting the focus on the periscope-like view slit that would be his eyes to the outside. He slipped on a leather helmet that had an inbuilt microphone for the tanks intercom.

"Radio check, people," said Newkirk.

"Pilot green."

"Port cannon green."

"Starboard cannon green

"Rear, gunner green."

"Engine green."

And on went the roll call while Deryn went through a series of stretches above losing herself up for what came next. With the roll call finished Newkirk tossed to the ground and stamped it out. He banged a hammer above him signalling all go to Deryn who moved down into a sprinters start position lowering her body and grapping on to anything that was attached to the tank. Once ready she clenched her fist and brought it down on the tanks roof with a satisfying clang; she was good to go.

"Newkirk ramp secured your clear for departure," came a deck operator's voice over the radio, "Drop 'em easy and hit 'em hard."

Newkirk nodded at the engineer who kicked the engine into life. The roar was epic and thick smoke belched out the exhausts as the engine began firing on all cylinders. The driver released the brakes and the tank shot forward and out the open bay.

The Bear launched off the ramp and fell in free fall for second before its treads hit the ground with a burst of squealing metal and waft of dust that shot up and covered the tank before a second later it tore off and began to circle back round to overtake the St Clair. The treads drew deep track marks in the ground behind them and sun shone off the battered body. Deryn looked up to see the chaos of what lay ahead of them.

Burnt out wrecks of buggies pocketed the wake of the St Clair that was aired charging through the next wave vehicles. Newkirk put on the speed and soon they were overtaking the St Clair and driving head first into a maelstrom of bullets and churning metal. Rockets and bullets peppered the St Clair's underbelly as walkers and half-tracks desperately tried to get a good shot on a legs weak point before they were either crushed or blown up.

The Bear torn across the desert speeding ahead of the St Clair charging through the second wave of walkers. The six-inch pounder guns fired round after round at the towering walkers as they shambled forward like an army of gorillas. Their featureless faces shining in the dying light as the charged forward with shoulder mounted rocket launchers firing volley after volley at the St Clair and the Bear.

Newkirk was bellowing orders to the gunners while the pilot steered the Bear though the Raiders armoured ranks swerving left and right as explosives impacted all around them. On top Deryn roared with animal delight as the Bear piled on the speed its turbo engaging and the tracks spun faster. She revelled in the blasting wind and the sensation of her stomach dropping with each time the Bear bounded over the uneven ground. Behind them the St Clair came stomping forward crushing anything that went under its jackhammer-like legs. The gun batteries were roaring a song of battle with a rolling bass from the 20-inch guns to the dancing treble of the 12-inches that accompanied the blazing Gatling guns. Here and there a team of rocketeers sent a volley of explosive ordinance streaming a white smoke trail across the blue sky that landed amongst a rank of walkers enveloping them in several balls of fire.

Deryn let her hands fly up and let the wind take her up into the air and off the roof of the Bear. She flipped backwards like a world renowned acrobat and then came crashing back to earth.

Imagine a hooded figure standing in the dust trail of one armoured hell beast while another behemoth behind her was charging forward with its engines set to full ahead. The sun is falling and long shadows are cast in the dry dirt while above a flying whale begins to release its payload of explosives over the blazing decks of the raider barges who had first thought they would win due to their overwhelming numbers. They had not considered how powerful or how mad their opponents were.

Deryn let a battle cry and spirited forward her hands clawing at the air and her legs pumping like the pistons of St Clair's great engines. She spurred forward eyes black and voice crying for blood. A battle walker had the mistake to try and run her down, she insured that the error was corrected as the crew of the walker soon found out by way of her tearing through the cockpits outer casing like it was made of wet paper.

A survivor off a near-by upturned buggy saw her and sent a spray of bullets from his rifle towards her. Time slowed to a crawl for Deryn. She saw the pellets of hot lead stream towards her sunlight gleaming off their conical bodies. She moved between them in slow and strained way as if she were walking under water. Every one missed her and the man found that she had moved from twenty meters to her face being just an inch from his in the blink of an eye. Black orbs seemed to drown him as a strange mesmerising effect captured his fear struck brain; like a rabbit caught in the headlights. He never felt her hand reach for his throat.

Back on the St Clair they had cleared the barges escorts and where a minute away of passing between the two closet ships. Alarm bells sounded as port and starboard side turrets tuned out making the St Clair look like it had just acquired a coat of spikes from a distance. The moment came when the ship passed between the two barges barley leaving a metre between them.

"Fire," roared Alek into the intercom as both sides unleashed hell. To see a battleship use its broadside is an astonishing thing. The two barges were enveloped in a wave of fire that came blossoming out of each turret like a dragons breathe scorching and burning anything it touched. The shells that came thundering out of their turrets at Mach 3. At that speed it isn't so much the shell that does the damage it's more or less the immense pressure wave that the shells carves out as it passes through at three times the speed of sound. Metal crumpled like foil with the force of the blast that rolled through the barges turning anybody who got in the way into a fine red mist.

There was nothing left of the flanks that had faced the St Clair's broadside. The massive ship kept moving through the smoke its turrets still shaking from the combined bombardment. It passed through the rear of the fleet cantering over a convoy of smaller transport craft and tankers. The two front barges that had faced the St Clair were in trouble for the shells had hit had completely decimated their internal superstructure and exposed bullheads and corridors could be seen behind the flaming holes and gashes in the barges skin.

The halls were breached and the suspension ruined which now led to both ships unbalanced in a way that led two both veering into each other and coming to a screeching halt of twisted wrecks

"Excellent work, Commander," came Cassandra voice over the radio.

"Thank you but I'm afraid that they'll be more cautious next time. We'll begin to come about and begin bombardment from a distance. Let the smoke and fire cloud them in confusion while the shells keep falling," Alek replied.

"My paratroopers will soon be boarding the wreckage if you could discourage any vermin from trying to stop them then we would be most appreciative."

"Are you attempting a rescue or kidnapping, Captain?" asked Alek.

"Well we will be rescuing them from a burning ship. Weather they come willing or not is something I shouldn't worry about," said Cassandra innocently.

"I have an asset in the area that could provide assistance."

"Ah yes, I was wondering what that antique was doing, but so far proved quiet effective against the escorts."

"I'm patching you in to Newkirk tell him what you need," said Alek as the turrets started turning onto new targets entering a new verse of their song of battle.

"Much obliged, commander," and Cassandra's voice clicked off.

The Steenbok turned back swinging around for another pass over, its altitude dropping fast. On the ground another walker took a fresh shell to the face its top half exploding in a ball of fire, metal and crispy bits of flesh. The hanger doors swung open and out of the gloom nine figures started to repel out into the dusk light.

The remaining four barges had kept formation and were now where the St Clair had started its charge where they had regrouped with their remaining escorts. While they consolidated their forces the Steenbok would use this chance to board the raiders lead ship which the St Clair had disabled. And so this is how Commander Hopkins found himself dropping out of the airship while it made a pass over the target barge. The ship could not go lower for fear of embers that were carried in the smoke so this would be done a twice the recommend altitude for troop deployment. The winches were spinning furiously as the ships speed made the commander and his men swing back in the wind.

Deryn watched as the airship descended over the barge and as the tiny black figures dangling beneath vanished onto one of the wrecks top decks. The airship started to rise however now it was nine people short as the repel cables danced free of weight in the air. She jumped down of the smoking body of recently crippled walker and started at a run for the barges; something red dripped from the walker's body.

Two her left a small singular dust trail began to grow larger as whatever it was drew near. The Bear turned in a wide arc and slowly came alongside her. Newkirk stood on top of it with a hand griping a rung for support his other hand reached out for Deryn.

"Need a lift," he shouted over the engine and wind with a grin. Deryn smiled and moved closer aware of the thundering treads of the tank and jumped up high towards Newkirk grabbing his out stretched arm and using it to haul herself onto the tanks body. She crouched behind him as he moved back down into the Bear.

He moved from the Bears roof and back down inside with his upper half poking out the hatch as she moved beside him an arm resting on the open hatch door.

"We've been asked to provide perimeter support to the paratroopers on board the wrecks!" Shouted Newkirk over the din.

"What would they want in their?!" queried Deryn.

"Apparently the bigger one is or was the fleets flagship, buts that all she'd tell me!" shouted Newkirk.

"Her, we taking orders from the Captain now?" asked Deryn. Newkirk merely shrugged.

Deep inside the smoking corridors of the raider flagship the nine men team moved through the crippled ship passing over bodies of the dead and wounded moving between damaged pipes that leaked out scorching steam and passed fire filled rooms. Beneath their helmets radio chatter linked them as the sounds of klaxons and secondary explosions from the magazine vault and fuel tanks rumbled through the decks. Dark figures moved through hot choking interior bringing death to those that stood in their path.

The Goshawk paratroopers moved with mechanical precision rotating point-man every minute in an ever-changing defensive pack. Reavers in old fatigues and robes came running out the smoke and steam brandishing everything from cleavers to rifles charging the troopers with an almost suicidal determination. They were cut down swiftly their bullet riddled bodies dead before they brains knew it or were simply mashed into paste by the power of over a thousand rounds per minute.

One of the troopers reached down and pulled an armband of one of the dead and handed it up to Hopkins who recognised the Arabic text as the motto of a the Reavers leader.

Outside the Bear was tearing across the ground skirting around the burning wreck to the side facing remains of the raider fleet. With swift appliance of the brakes the Bear came skidding to a halt sliding round to face the reaming raiders head-on giving a silent challenge. The engines growled and pleaded to be released. Deryn remained crouched beside Newkirk who sat with his upper half outside the hatch. They both turned their heads to see the massive arachnid form of the St Clair come trundling from behind the wall of black smoke that wafted up from the bring wrecks. It was proceeding at quarter speed before coming to a gentle halt at least a mile Parallel to the Bear joining in challenging the raider fleet.

"Newkirk do you copy," came a static squawk from Newkirk's head piece.

"Loud and clear, Alek," said Newkirk staring just above the bridge at a tiny black dot on the observation deck. Behind them the Steenbok was starting to turn from its fly-over. He switched to intercom and ordered the driver to stop.

"-what?" he asked Alek as they slowed

"I said any idea why their holding?" asked Alek.

"No," Newkirk turned to Deryn and said, "You?" she shook her head.

"Alright we wait to see if-," Alek started but he was cut off as several dozen plumes of soaring white smoke launched into the air. They arced across from the decks of the raider barges racing into a lazy climb gaining speed by the second and heading towards the St Clair.

"Blisters, Alek, rocket swarm incoming!" cried Newkirk into his mic. Deryn was already running towards the St Clair.

The rockets numbered into their dozens swirling and weaving out of each other's wakes some flying out of formation due to either damage or range miscalculations. The distance they had to travel would mean many would fall short, but there were those that would make it.

Alek ran from the observation platform belted down the narrow spiral stair case and back into the bridge with Bovril clinging to his chest. Deep horns sounded and any one exposed began running for cover.

"Lloyd, those shelters better be full," said Alek.

"Aye, all topside personal have made it to their assigned shelters," replied the lieutenant trying to mask his panic, "time to impact 40 seconds, sir."

"Helm full reverse!" he shouted. Alek jumped into his command chair grabbing for his corded mic, "All hands, all hands, brace for emergency manoeuvres!" he switched the P.A off and stared forward intently at the streaking white smoke trails spiralling towards him and his ship.

The St Clair groaned as its legs started to slowly wind back up to a rhythm. The back end reared up slightly dipping the front down in return giving the craft a slanted position. Inside people grabbed on as the ship pulled back seemingly to try and leave them behind.

The reaming barges suddenly lurched forward into a line of massive metal land ships. Twin armoured hulls tipped with sharp prows carved lines into the ground as the thundered forwards with their escort of smaller craft weaving in-between like scampering pups.

Deryn halted for a second half way between the St Clair and the Bear in her panic at seeing a storm of rockets stream towards Alek rational thought had left her and now she was exposed halfway between the retreating St Clair and the Bear with a fleet of enraged raiders filled with bloodlust and battle fever. The first wave of rockets came shooting down missing by a metre. It was like the St Clair was back-pedalling from a wall of falling rain. Several rockets hit the hull and explosions rumbled through then came the rest. The Gatling guns had begun firing upwards putting up a wall of bullets hoping to detonate the rockets before they hit but still they kept falling. Fires engulfed the top deck of the St Clair that came to a slow stop. The raiders who saw this cheered and passed on the message _the great ship is dead we cannot fail now._

Deryn saw this and she just stopped and stared horror gripping her chest in a tight fist. Then the something dark filled her eyes and every cell in her being called out for blood. She turned calmly to face the charging rag-tag fleet and listened as the bear roared forward into a charge and the humming of engines as the Steenbok came slowly came over the St Clair and watched in curiosity as the ship began venting ballast over the St Clair which quickly spiled down and rendered the worst of fires nothing but steam.

She began losing up rolling her shoulders and stretching her arms and legs almost as if it was a ritual of sorts. Gunners on the backs of the speeding buggies took aim at Deryn and…she started running right at them. Time became a trickle and she weaved, jumped and slid through, over and beneath the bullets. She drew a sharp yet weathered knife from her boot and began cutting the raiders throats as she passed over their buggies watching as their surprised and fearful faces passed by at a snail's pace. Every detail normally lost to those who travel at times normal speed played out before her. Blood spilled out like a stream of rubies and the cry's and screams of the dying turned to low moans and groans. She danced between the packs of buggies that had charged her missing some but not others.

She ran on towards the St Clair letting the driverless buggies crash and pile up and the ones still under control to try and understand what just happened just as Newkirk and his armoured hell beast rammed through them. The barges were speeding towards the St Clair determined to ensure that blood and treasure they had lost would not be in vain. Smoke and fire shrouded most of the St Clair but then something happened. The sound of a deep horn blasted across the battlefield echoed off across the Sahara. The St Clair's massive powerful arachnid-like legs started clanking forward while on top the immense 20-inch guns started rotating onto to new targets. They fired round after bone shattering round at the advancing fleet. Metal and men were tossed up into the air with each falling shell.

Behind the bridge four of the eight silos started to raise their hatches revealing sharp nosed objects protruding from the dark interior and a after a slow rumble they all started to climb out and race into the open sky leaving behind a thick column of smoke and each rumbled forward with a nine meter jet of flame pulsing out the tail as they streaked up and towards the incoming barges. While the swarm rockets from the barges screamed and ripped through the air these much larger and bulkier relatives simple thundered through it with a constant BOOM!

On the bridges of the barges the captains watched with their own horrid fascination as four massive objects arced across the sky and closed in just as the last glimmers of light faded past the horizon and a moment later their worlds ignited as the last thing they saw was a blinding flash of intense scourging light and then _nothing. _

Impact.

Deryn watched with pitch black eyes closing them and shielding them behind her arm as the missiles made contact and the barges vanished into nothing but a blurry outline hidden in the blinding light of six new suns that enveloped the entire fleet in purifying fire. Night claimed the desert as the explosions faded to blazing fires while the big wide and inviting face of the moon crested the horizon and enveloped the land in an eerie dark blue.


	6. Chapter 6

_They escaped the island fortress of Darwinism only to trek across a storm plagued irradiated wasteland to the heart of an industrial empire. At night Deryn would stare into the fire with black eyes while Alek listened to the ghosts of his past whisper to him and Newkirk would mutter dark thoughts to the inky night as the phantoms of the storm lands closed in._

The desert night closed in and they had won. The St Clair's Vengeance missiles had left no ship whole with the raider fleet having been completely destroyed and the remains scattered into a large blast radius. Alek walked through the tangled piles of blackened metal unarmed knowing that nothing had survived the blast. The raiders should have retreated when their flagship had fallen but the desire for revenge and a selection of powerful narcotics had hindered there judgment; at least it was a mistake that they would never repeat.

He wandered between the many fires that dotted the debris field while around him search parties trawled for anything that could be salvaged: food, water, any fuel tanks that escaped the worst of it. There barely anything in the end. He walked on when something caught his eye. He moved closer to another clump of mangled deck plate and went down onto his haunches using his hands to sift through the shattered pieces of metal until he found the thing that had glinted in the bright moonlight. He picked up the small palm sized objects and turned it over in his hands.

He wipe away the scum and grim that covered the objects body with an old rag making what was now a pocket watch shine silver. He opened the delicate case carefully fearing the worst, but was surprised to see only a small crack running down the glass covering while beneath the watch face was unscathed. Gently he twisted the winder and let the watch run. He listened to the soft _ticking_ as the watch slowly wound back down. He remembered the collection of watches that his father used to have. Each one meticulously cleaned, oiled and kept to a splendid gold or silver shine. A brief gust of wind brought him back from the distant past.

He sighed and pocketed the device before walking off. Behind him hidden in the shadows a figure that was not entirely there watched him go with deep hollow eyes.

Deryn sat precariously on a large metal beam that jutted out of a tall mound of scrap. Her hood was down and the wind tugged playfully at her short blond. Her eyes were clear as her gaze swept across what was once a mighty raider fleet that had once ground their enemies beneath their treads only to come up against a foe that could call down fire from the sky. Alek ambled below her showing no signs of knowing she was there as he walked through the maze of hull armour and broken caterpillar tracks she watched him pass and wander from view. She moved her body into a prone position so as to lie along the beam her arms crossed under her chin.

After a moment of resembling a leopard lying on a branch she swung her body off the beam and dangled below with one hand holding on with seemingly no effort required. The metal beam groaned softly but that could easily be put down to the brisk wind. She dropped roughly twenty feet to the ground her limbs splayed out from her body spreading the force of impact and minimising the sound. Her body hovered a couple inches of the ground her eyes and ears scanning the air. She moved from her spider-like pose and stood up. There was a soft clicking and shuffling of feat behind her before someone spoke.

"Sorry, but it won't be that easy," said a voice from the shadows.

She had to smile at the surprises she still got. Her body was more powerful and graceful than most humans could imagine and her advanced senses meant that barely anything escaped her attention yet someone had manger to put a gun to her head.

"Wasn't really trying anyway, love," she said turning to the owner of the gun. She stared into the green eyes that gazed intently at her from the shadows that were cast between two massive hunks of what used to be a barges treads.

Deryn pressed her forehead against the muzzle of Alek's revolver matching his gaze almost daring him to pull the trigger. They stood like that for a while before Alek pulled the handgun back and strapped it back into his holster. Deryn smiled and pulled Alek into a deep embrace her arms squeezed the air from his lungs but he didn't care just that they were together that was all that mattered. The kiss was deep and pushed away most of Alek's worries.

"You've been smoking again," she said he opened his mouth to retort but she cut him off again with another kiss.

They walked out of the debris field and towards the St Clears hulking form. Above the Steenbok circled lazily with the beams of powerful spotlights illuminating the St Clair and debris field. A ring of gyrocopters sat parked in a little group just outside the ruins. Sitting in the gunner seat just in front of the pilot was captain Cassandra Ardis.

"Congratulations are in order, Commander," she said to Alek with a smile.

"I had hoped they'd retreat," said Alek with a grim expression.

"Don't feel sorry them, Alek. They were a band of reavers and rapists and the world is better off without them," she said her smile gone replaced with a hard expression.

"We owe you for your help back there to be honest id have thought you'd let us burn," said Alek honestly.

"I like to think I keep my word," she said with a smirk before it vanished and she looked to Deryn, "Which comes to you, miss?"

"Deryn," said the blond girl plainly.

"You know how rare you are?" asked Cassandra almost conversationally.

"Well my ma always did say I was special," said Deryn innocently, "Now would you like to take this inside the cold comes in fast out here."

Cassandra began unbuckling herself while she spoke to the pilot behind her in Afrikaans. After a minute she was unstrapped and standing next to Alek and Deryn with two guardsmen as the gyrocopters started their engines and took off into the night air. They walked to the St Clair the guards staying a respectable yet protective distance. Taking an elevator that had been hoisted over the side of the ship Cassandra was led by Alek to his private quarters.

Deryn moved inside stretching her arms above her head while yawning before she practically jumped on to an ancient divan that was part of a small square of chairs and sofas that surrounded an equally old coffee table. Alek moved over to what was desk and retrieved a decanter of a honey coloured liquid and three glasses from a cupboard above the desk. Every bit of furniture had either been bolted to the floor or wall and on anything that opened stiff locks had been placed; this was practical given you lived on something that had decade old suspension and spent most of the time moving.

Cassandra ordered the guards to remain outside to which they grudgingly agreed to. Alek walked back to the arrangement of chairs and set down the crystal decanter and glasses.

"Sorry but we're all out of ice," Alek said as he poured them drinks, "But to be fair this is the desert."

"I'm just glad for the hospitality most people wouldn't be so welcoming," said Cassandra accepting the glass from Alek and moving into a threadbare armchair relaxing into it and sipping at the brandy.

They all sat there with Alek opposite Deryn in his dark leather recliner and Cassandra across from them both. All three of them just sat sipping at their drinks none having the drive or energy to engage in a conversation yet there was no tension as if the battle had put them all on equal standing.

"May I ask where Mr Newkirk has retired to?" asked Cassandra eventually.

"He doesn't like these sort of things," said Alek, "He's probably in the mess taking care of everyone."

"How many did you lose?" she asked sombrely. Alek was quiet for a while.

"Nine," he said eventually, "Three were fathers, two were mothers, the rest…,"his voice quietened and trailed off.

"We lost six," she said in a way that suggested there had been many loses before.

"But they lost everything," said Deryn with a cold steel out the round window across at the still burning wrecks.

"True," agreed Cassandra. Alek looked at them and raised his glass in toast.

"To their memory," he said. The others echoed him. Alek's world darkened slightly though the others didn't notice him tighten his jaw and desperately try to keep his eyes from wandering. A dark towering figure peered in through the room's singular porthole with hollow eyes and a humourless grin.

_Not tonight, _he pleaded.

The figure cocked its head to the side as if considering Alek's plea before it slowly shook its head raised a long bony figure to its fleshless lips switching its gaze from him to Deryn who didn't seem to notice. It vanished from Alek's vision yet he still felt its presence in the form of a grey heavy weight sitting at the back of his mind.

"So what happens now?" asked Deryn to Cassandra.

"I have already sent word to my superiors. You will be held responsible for are victory here and they gladly await your arrival," she said, "Of course this may be due to the fact you possess one of them most advanced and powerful ships from before the collapse," she admitted.

"I suppose they'll be a parade," said Deryn sarcastically.

"I should think so," replied Casandra half joking and then added more seriously, "I didn't mention you. No need to attract unwanted attention,"

"Strange behaviour from a member of the Helios Guard," said Deryn eyes narrowed as she studied Cassandra.

Cassandra matched her stare for a while then she avert her eyes and said in soft tired voice, "I was only nineteen when the war started. Deemed a genius by the boffins in London I was swiftly plucked from my parents tiny isolated farm and dropped into the Royale Academy of Johannesburg and became a rising star for the admiralty. From there I flew through the ranks until I was practically given the Steenbok. I moved back down to Cape Town to be closer to home," she said her eyes glazing and her fingers fiddling with a small bracelet on her left wrist, "Call me the sentimental type."

"I wold have thought the Admiralty would have wanted their 'rising star' to form rank back in the homeland," said Alek.

Cassandra smiled, "I don't think the Sealords are in the habit recovering the corpses of now useless officers from the edge of a collapsing empire."

"My condolences," said Deryn smiling, "Guess we're all walking corpses."

"Doesn't surprise me," said Cassandra, "The boffins wouldn't want word to get out that some sort of mass murdering monster had escaped. What was it drowning or shootout?"

Deryn looked at her straight and said, "Airship caught alight over the channel. Wreckage was nothing but ash and we were already in the '_Deadzone'_ long before the first response teams made it."

"How did you hear about Project Berserker by the way?" asked Alek leaning forward and pouring himself a third glass under Deryn's stern look, "Most didn't even survive the preliminary let alone primary testing phase."

"In an agency that's business is to know everyone else's business we came to be aware of rumours of a human fabrication project circulating in the higher rafters. When the actual documents were released as the first of Kaisers bombs detonate over eastern Europe we got a pretty clear picture of what the boffins in London had been up to," she said before turning to Deryn, "I have to admit you look pretty human compared to the autopsy photos."

"You know when they say that beauty is not skin deep? Well with me it sort of is," Deryn said smiling grimly, "See my body needs a constant supply of… well in simple It needs meat in order to sustain its high metabolism and energy output, if I don't get the material required or say if I'm injured and my body need more than it has things can get a little…"

"…Interesting," finished Alek as small smile flashed across his face, "if I may ask why let the admiralty think you were dead?"

"Because in all honesty I shared no loyalty to them. I like many who possessed a gift of strategy and tactics were merely tools for them to modify and maintain the empire. So when the central government in Pretoria fell the union capitulated with Transvaal and Natal each fighting each other South Africa went from being a union of British colonies to degrade into a band of several smaller states and self-proclaimed nations each fighting the other for dominion.

So like many who had ships me and my crew left," she paused for a gulp of brandy, "You ever seen what people do when they get desperate? No law, no order we were complete abandoned things got bad fast. They were eating each other by the third week," she needn't say more on the subject. She did not tell them of the many ethnic wars or the mass killings and bouts of pillaging. She said nothing even though she wished to, to be able to share the horrors she had seen, but she did not for all three of them had lived through a grim decade and seen what happens when people stare into the wilderness.

"One day this will all be forgotten," said Alek after a while of silence save for the sounds of cooling pipes and distant tunes of what might have been singing from below in the mess hall.

"We will be nothing but dust when that happens, Alek," said Cassandra.

"Still it will end and will become nothing but a paragraph in a history book," he replied meeting her gaze.

They drank and talked for a while. But below their feet down in the steaming guts of the St Clair a figure ambled through the thick clouds of rising steam. Newkirk had left the mess hall just as Old Joe had roused the crew into another round of Waltzing Matilda. They were in good spirits with the wake for the nine who were lost reaching a point where grief had been put on hold to just remember who they were and celebrate a life lived well and that they themselves had survived. Newkirk had left when all that he had needed to say had been said and left the crew to their celebrations and moved into the back passages of the ship retreating to the small rat ways and maintenance halls that surrounded and weaved around the St Clair's massive engines.

He stopped somewhere deep in the ship and collapsed onto his haunches letting out a deep sign. He pushed his dirty hands over his face trying to hold back the wash of emotions that threatened to burst. He sobbed and cried and in utter frustration lashed out and pounded the metal grating beneath his feet.

_Too many,_ thoughts rolled around his head. Bovril watched him intently from above with its large old eyes.

Out in the cold desert amongst the remains of the raider fleet their once proud banners and flags of ferocious beasts and monsters now fluttered limply in the wind. The fires would soon dim and fade but the wreck would remain for some while longer out here under the freezing stars and scorching sun, where life was hard and dying easy.

_A robed figure that flickered and wavered in the fire light moved slowly to the centre of the explosions where the sand had been blasted into a black cracked glass. There are places in the world where powerful weapons have scorched the ground leaving nothing but poisoned air and invisible fires that melt the flesh and burn the bones within. In such places a man can enter and what returns may simply wear his skin._


	7. Chapter 7

_The monsters of our childhoods come slithering into our secret places and they corrupt our incorruptible dreams… and then we wake to the dawning light with our dreams fading like fog on a mirror._

Long ago…

"Tell me what we see my boy." The man asked the well wrapped form beside him as they stared up at the clear winter's night.

The boy shrugged, "Stars?"

The man gave a grunt of a laugh, "Yes my boy and what do you know about stars."

Another shrug, "They're pretty," said the boy.

The man gave another bark of a laugh and knelt down on the snow next to the boy, "Yes, they are. And do you know something else my boy."

The boy tuned from the sky and looked up into the man's smiling face, "what, Papa?"

"Those stars are millions of miles from us and yet there light still reaches us across all that darkness. So far away that some have long since turned cold and dull before their light even touches us. Now whenever you're alone and everything seems so hard and distant I want you to look up at those stars and think of how far away they are and yet still they persevere at shinning their light on you. Can you do that for me, Alek?" asked the man to his son. The boy looked back at the stars with uncomprehending wonder and then turned back to his father and gave a firm nod.

The man smiled warmly and then stood up taking his son's glove clad hand and walked back to the warm lights and roaring fire with the snow crunching beneath each foot fall.

Now…

The stars were out, but the snow was gone with nothing but the howling wind echoing through the decrepit ruin that was once so familiar with the glow of lamp lights and the comforting voices of loved ones. Glass crackled under heavy footfalls as an armoured figure walked through this once proud castle. Outside a gentle slope of dead grass leads to a poisoned pond where a stone fountain once spurted crisp clear water. Nothing but slime and moss now. The ghosts armoured body creaked and groaned with complaint as the figure sat down on a thick vine covered stone bench. Staring up as the past flooded back. In the swirling wind the leave play and dance lightly while the voices of the dead spoke to the ghost.

"My son," said one voice.

"Our baby," a woman's softer tones.

"Alek," a voice that stopped the ghost's heart.

A small figure made of shadows stood in front of the ghost who moved down resting his arms on his legs craning his head closer, "Its cold," said the shadow in a child's voice.

"I KNOW," said the ghost quietly whose synthesizers could not hold the emotion that swelled in that metal voice.

"I'm scared," said the child and somehow the ghost knew it was crying.

"I KNOW. BUT WE MUST BE STRONG," said the ghost pleadingly.

"Everything's broken and I'm so scared and cold and lost," said the child sobbed.

"HEY," said the ghost desperately. A metal hand reached out but then faltered and then withdrew as the figure dropped his head, "THEY NEED US TO KEEP GOING. WE-I PROMISED TO…" his voice trailed off.

"Why us?" the shadow gestured to the dark landscape beyond the garden. The ghost looked out on the land and then tuned back to answer but the shadow was gone and what stood in its place was far more terrifying. A towering figure draped in black robes with deep hollow eyes staring down into the man's green eyes.

"If you can't fix what's broken you'll go insane," the thing spoke with what sounded like a dozen voices speaking in unison.

"WHICH IS WHY ITS HARD TO TELL WHOSE MORE CRAZY ME OR EVERYONE ELSE," said the ghost as he stood up and walked through the phantom. In the distant the horizon was peppered with yellow lights of a city with the bulbous body of patrolling airships circling above in the starry sky. The ghost shouldered his pack and walked down past the slimy pond, jumped over what was left of a stone wall and into the rolling fields of what was once fertile farmland and started to run. Back in the garden the figure watched the receding form of the armoured warrior and then in a gust of wind shattered into a trillion particles of dust.

A storm was gathering in the sky above as the winds rolled across the endless fields of once billowing rows of wheat now nothing but tangles of weeds and scraps of weak stalks. Off an old dirt track was an abandoned homestead and barn. The farmhouse was boarded over and over the thick wooden door was the weathered mark of a red cross painted hastily. The Plague had been here and the ghost had no desire to see more dead. The ghost pushed aside one of the ancient wooden doors to the barn illuminating the interior with his ghostly blue eyes just as the first droplets of slightly polluted rain started to drizzle down. The barn was empty with nothing but old cobwebs and piles of hay. The smell of livestock had been saturated into the very foundations of the building and even after years of abandonment and at the mercy of the wind and rains the musty stench of manure and animal sweat filled the ghost's nose.

Lightning flashed in the sky as the rain started to pour down with a thunderous noise. In the back of the barn was a large pile of rotting hay which the ghost moved to and laid down in his heavy body making a deep impression on the pile. In a tired way he lifted an arm and with his other hand flipped a panel on underside of his forearm. Underneath the panel was series of metal slats cut in a chequered pattern. The ghost pushed several of the slats which clicked in place and shut the panel as the armour powered down and started a gentle beating hum as it began to recharge.

The storm raged outside.

There was soft clicking and then it happened. Like an insect shedding its old skin the armour began to crack open. Metal plates that made up the front and lined the limbs began to come apart and the jigsaw teeth that once held the armour together were magnetically released. The helm of the suit dropped back as the skull piece split down the middle and freed the wearer's body. The man stood up out of his shell like a butterfly breaking from its chrysalis.

Stumbling forward and cracking and stretching his body the man took a moment to reacquire the feeling of being without the aid of his power armour. He was slim, but his body held well-toned muscle beneath the clothes he wore, his face hidden beneath a thick greasy mop of brown hair and a raggedy beard.

The air turned his breathe white as moved over to the small forge that sat in the back corner of the barn. He broke pieces of wood off a door to an animal stock and used it crate a small pile over the ancient dead coals. There was plenty of dry hay and with a quick lick of a blowtorches flame the small fire started to gently crackle and flare. The man killed the torch and put it back in the pack of foods and equipment he had raided from the dreadnought.

The smell of salted meats cooking gently over the makeshift fire filled the barn and its warmth kept the gales icy fingers from the man's body. In the pile of hay the armour lay spreadeagle the humming of its recharging batteries made a reassuring background noise accompanied with the hammering of rain on the barns sulking roof. Next to the fire the man sat feeling the skin on his hands for the first time in days. He ran his finger over the deep surgical scars that ran in straight lines over his knuckles and up vanishing beneath his sleeve.

It was the rumble of an engine that woke the man first. He lay there silent and listened to his surroundings as he sent a hand down to grab a knife off his belt. Through the crack in the barn door and shining through the gaps in the wall was the unmistakable glare of headlights. The engine was a deep throttling but was muted over the falling rain. The man had put the fire out when he went to sleep to prevent against attracting unwanted attention which had probably stopped whoever it was from investigating the barn. He got up out of the pile of hay and crawled over to the resting armour. He could easily reactivate it and be gone under the cover of the storm. But then he heard a scream.

Five dark figures were moving from a series of three old trucks that had pulled up in front of the homestead and were pulling a struggling form between them inside. It was not alone as two figures came out of the homestead and went back round of one of the trucks with what were mostly likely guns held in their arms. Another cry as three more forms were wrenched from the back of one of the trucks and forced into the farm house at gunpoint.

_Don't. You can't risk it._

_There might be more._

_I'm scared._

_So are they. _

_Coward._

_What are you doing standing there? Do something. _

_FIGHT._

The voices rang hard in his head and he stumbled back as the wraiths echoed in his head. He looked back at the homestead now with lights appearing through the gaps in the windows, he looked back at the silent armour and moved over and grabbed the pack of equipment that sat next to it.

He had already taken inventory on his treasure and knew that he had: Three buck knives, two smoke grenades, a single nitrogen explosive and two officer's revolvers with ammunition to spare as well a massive MK-II Vickers machine gun with a gas cylinder for enhanced performance. The Vickers weight meant it could only be used with armour but the rest could be easily handled. He checked a gauge inside the helmet and saw it read 75% percent charge, more than enough for the assault.

Then a voice stopped him, _think Aleksandar you can't go charging in without proper knowledge of the terrain._

The voice was right he could go charging in but without proper recon of the house he could be doing more harm than good, but it would take too long to get the info and then return for the armour. He looked down at the power-suit with a grim smile and then it came to him. The armour did have a secondary function that gave him the freedom he needed.

He reached down to the helmet and plucked from it what looked like a crown from around the rim of the cradle for a person's head. It was in essence a band of band of wires with several blocks of electrodes and other devices clumped at apparently random intervals, he put it on where it fit snugly just on his hairline and resting on the ears.

_Are you sure?_ The voice asked.

"No," he admitted, grabbed the knives, pistols and grenades and then left the barn and into the storm vanishing like a spectre. The armour lay there silently and then after a while that stopped as the helmet lights snapped on and the armour plates came back to gather like jigsaw pieces. An iron-clad hand reached down and grabbed the Vickers machine gun.

The rain and moonless night smothered everything into a quagmire of darkness and turned the man into a silent wraith moving on the edge of the farmhouse lights. He moved around the back out of the bright headlights of the trucks heading to the shadows round back of the farm house. He moved cautiously to the stone wall of the house crouching beneath windows were needed as he proceeded towards a darkened section of the house. The room beyond the window was dark yet lit with flicker light from other rooms and with rain muffling all other noise the man pried open the window and slipped in.

The room was once a bedroom with the old brass frame with a rotten mattress lumped on top. Faded pictures were hung up but the man had no time to stare into someone else's past. He crept up to the room's door and peered through the gap into the corridor beyond where light from a dozen candles in the living room bounced off the walls. The held a knife in one hand and a pistol in the other.

There were seven gun wielding figures in total and were disperse throughout the house mainly in the living room and kitchen that joined through. They wore no uniforms or insignia yet their cloths were dispersed with camouflage webbing and patterns. Possibly a road band mused the man.

In this wild land on the edge of the imperium's territory outside their walled cities were simple towns hanging onto a meek yet enduring existence that feared hordes of road bands that ambushed convoys and raided the weakly defended towns. They patrolled the back roads and hid in the dark forests.

The seven here were probably part of a larger faction and had now decided to hold out the worst of the storm. The four now shiver cluster on the floor at the centre of the living room were clearly not raiders. The man who had his arms wrapped around his children and wife looked like he had been beaten and his wife also carried a bloody lip. The man swivelled a calculating eye across the entire scene. The family sat in the middle under supervision of three guards the other four bandits were congregated in discussion while one was attempting to light a fire in the small ancient firebox in the corner of the living room. They seemed to reach a conclusion.

"Alright it's decided we wait out the storm and then head into Armourgrad as soon as the worst is over. Boss said to meet 'em at the Iron Bark anyway," said what the man guessed to be the leader to the other bandits.

"Not the worst place to settle down in. Spooks and me will go and sort the rigs," said a towering man in heavy winter gear before he and a shaven haired woman left through the front door.

"Boomer I want you on the roof keep an eye out for trouble," said the leader to a skinny man with a big rifle slung over one shoulder and proceed down the dark hallway where the man watched from.

It could considered that out there across the sea of probability and chaos is a world where the man _had_ left and not interfered and the bandits had a comfortable if damp night to live another day and continue their violent lives. But this had not happened and now the sniper called Boomer walked down the dark passage unaware that these were the last moments of his life.

The man methodically holstered the pistol and transferred his free hand to the door handle reaffirming his grip on the knife. Boomer yawned lazily as he moved past the door where the man waited heading towards a staircase that started at the end of the corridor. Without noise the man fluidly opened the door and with two steps had forced the knife through Boomers neck and then just as quickly withdrew it. Just the blur of movement and a sickly sound of flesh splitting. No time was wasted the man grabbed the gurgling victim and hauled him back into the room and laid him down as the poor man spluttered on his own blood that began to trickle down his windpipe. The darkness of the unlit corridor had hidden the event, the man stood there on the threshold of visibility staring with the cold flame of violence burning in his eyes.

He stepped out from the dark and into the flickering light of candles and the now roaring fire. There was a moment of confusion and shock that passed over all others in the room. And then the reaper raised his revolvers and let lead fly.

He had their positions marked and the first four fell without even reacting. The leader dived to the ground raising his rifle and firing a stream of gunfire that peppered the wall behind where the figure had just been standing sending splinters of wood and wafts of dust into the air. Rolling forward and pressing up against the wall separating the kitchen and living room the man composed himself and looked at the huddled group on the floor. The father was staring at him uncomprehendingly while his boy looked at the man through a teary face. The man simply nodded and then stood up, unclipped the nitrogen explosive and tossed it through the open doorway.

The bandit leader saw the small grey cylinder fly through the doorway and hit the ancient iron stove, bounce off and roll along the stone floor. He scrambled away dragging a thick wooden table down and forming a primitive barricade.

The grenade exploded consuming the room in hungry fire. He survived barely.

The man dragged the screaming leader from behind the splintered table patting out the fire that lit the bandit's clothing and flesh.

Outside the giant and the woman named Spooks truned from covering the packs trucks in protective sheets and listened to noises of gunfire and then explosion that rocked the farmhouse and then the screaming. The woman made a start towards the house but the man stopped her and with his other hand grabbed a radio and began calling for backup.

The man dropped the bandit leader in the living room who was moaning from the burns to his face. The father gently stood up even as his wife tried to stop him.

"What-," he stared but then just shook his head and tried to form a sentence to convey something.

"Doesn't matter," said the man in perfect German, "just get them-," he gestured to the wife and children, "-out through the back,"

The father nodded and began to move his family as a spray of gunfire blasted through the boarded windows on the front side. Everyone dived flat on the floor. The man looked up and crawled to one of the windows and peered through one of the bullet holes. Outside the other two bandits had taken cover behind the low stone wall that ringed what had once been a garden out the front of the house. He returned fire not expecting to hit anyone but to deter any bravery. Through the rain he could hear throaty call of other engines.

With one hand he reached to the back of his head and pressed the crown of wire against the soft bit between where his skull ended and his neck began. There as a soft click like two magnets sticking together. He closed his eyes and concentrated on one single thought.

_Wake up._

Ghostly blue lights switched on and pierced the gloom like lanterns.

"Back-ups here Doug!" shouted the woman called Spook over the pouring rain.

Outside the giant of a man moved from the low wall and in crouched run behind the cluster of trucks just as the first headlights of another convoy of bikes and rigs thundered down the now sloppy dirt road. He moved out into the roads and waved them down.

The bikes shot passed him there riders weaving into the open area between the farmhouse and barn closely followed by two heavily armoured cars who pulled up and let out there cargo of fighters who took up a loose circle round the house forming a perimeter. The big rig that drove at the centre of the convoy pulled up in a hiss of steam and squeal of brakes.

A fat yet grizzled man wrapped in thick leather and cloth jumped out of the driver's cabin of the rig and watched as Doug ran up to him, "You realise that those patrols are still looking for us. This better be damn important!" shouted the fat man, "what the hell happened?"

"Me and Spooks were dealing with the rigs when we heard gunfire and explosions and then I heard Goose screaming. So then I let of mag into the place," Doug gestured to the bullet ridden planks over the houses windows, "then whoever it was shot at us."

The fat man surveyed the farmhouse as his troops took cover next to vehicles and on the low wall. He chewed his lip in thought and then reached back inside the rig and pulled out a megaphone and motioned for Doug to follow as the moved to the truck nearest the farmhouse.

"You still got Gerard and his family in there?" asked the man as they took cover next to the truck.

"Yeah, unless whoever did it killed them!" Doug shouted over a thunderclap.

"What makes you think it's not the peasant?" asked the fat man.

Doug shrugged and replied, "None of us were carrying explosives and he was already pissed scared."

The fat man nodded and turned the megaphone on.

The rain and night turned everything into a soup of sodden figures and harsh headlights, but to anyone that noticed there was a blue glow emanating from the old barn.

"Alright you in the house you're surrounded come out with the peasants and give yourself up. Every second you make us wait is another minute I add to your slow death!" bellowed the man through the megaphone.

A single bandit had noticed the glowing light and was cautiously moving towards the barn door.

"Oi! You listening, you know who I am? You're surrounded!" as one man each of the bandits took aim at the farm house and readied there weapons and vehicle mounted turrets.

The bandit peered through the gap in the barn door and heard what sounded like a turbine starting up.

The doors where blown out in massive cloud of splinters and dust as a heavy metal leg kicked through the thick wood. The man was thrown of his feet and landed hard on his back. He looked up at the towering iron giant that stood over him wielding the biggest gun he'd ever seen. The bandit stared into those cold blue lights that pierced through his eyes and into his brain. The giant raised its foot and crushed the bandits head like an egg shell.

The fat man turned just in time to see what had happened as the first of the Vickers bullets started to hit. The weapon unleashed its heavy rounds in constant Boom, Boom, Boom with each one followed by a gout of flame that licked out the end of the barrel.

At the same time a dark figure burst out of the farmhouse front door dual-wielding a pair revolvers and started firing on the assailants. In the black of night the rounds streaked as red comets sending sprays of mud and stone into the air to be mixed with blood and shards of metal that pinged of the vehicles with sharp retorts.

Chaos ensued as the iron giant and the mad man descended upon the marauders like angels of death. The fat man took cover as Doug began firing at the man who leapt over the stone wall and vanished into the crowd of scattering bandits who all diffused into the night in a panic. With mechanical ease the iron giant cut them down. The first truck exploded in a mushroom of orange fire lurching up into the air with the force of detonation. People were tossed like dolls in the shock wave. As warriors the bandits did not fight as a unit but only for themselves. They were not organised and instead let their instincts dictate their actions and without group cohesion they were easy prey.

Lightning flashed.

The iron golem strode across the muddy battlefield its body swivelling from target to target the barrel of the machine gun glowing red hot as streaming crimson pellets of lead shredded anything in their path. The man walked towards the giant with seemly without care as he whispered instructions to the automaton.

One of the bikers sped round the burning wrecks and charged towards the man. In one hand the biker wielded a long lance-like weapon and had it aimed right at the man's chest. Time slowed to a crawl. Rolling mushrooming explosions jumped skyward with a gentle glimmering slowness and in that small instant the man and the biker made eye contact.

Then a ghostly blue light blinded the biker and a metal fist came out of the dark and punched the biker off his ride and sent him flying up screaming and tumbling until he landed with a sickening splat on the farm house. The man calmly sidestepped the riderless bike as it sped past and vanished into the dark headlights still ablaze.

It was more than chaos it was madness. And in the heart of it the man was…laughing. His guns ran dry but that was no matter he simply drew his knives and walked through the fires cloaked in shadow and a wide grin.

To the bandits that fled to woods and lived they will tell of that darkling night when the wind roared and the rain stung your eyes and then out of the blazing fires came a figure that seemed to kill by touch and the giant of iron that stared at you with those bright blue eyes. No mercy just the ginning man and the steel golem that offered only a cold light and quick death.

Eventually the Vickers ran dry and so the giant switched from guns to fists. After a time the screaming of the many stopped and a quiet so thick you would think you could touch it swept in and smothered the battlefield save for the sounds of wavering flames and the slowing of rain drops as the storm passed. The man called Doug lay face down in the mud with a dozen holes in his back oozing blood and smoke. The woman known as Spook gurgled like a forest brook as her life quietly drained away. As for the fat man he still lived and was dragged out from under his truck by the iron giant and held up by the foot dangling him above the sloppy ground. The man crouched next to the fat man's face as the last raindrops fell.

"Do you know who I am!" roared the fat man as he dangled there the current events not yet dawning on him.

The man peered into the fat mans blustered face and said in a quiet voice that could have been used to sharpen a sword, "Do you know who I am," the fat man simply stared at the dark figure next to him, "I am the one who decides if you live or die and right now you're not making a good case. I've slaughtered your people and yet you still don't seem to get it. You've lost."

The man stood and ordered the giant to break the man's ankle and drop him. A swift crunch and a long scram followed by a wet splat was all that followed. In the farm house doorway the father and his family stood there with eyes wide as they surveyed the devastation. The fat man tried to crawl away but the suit simply put a firm foot onto the man's back holding him in place.

The man walked away, then stumbled, then crouched down muttering to himself incoherently.

"Dead they're all dead. Dead. Dead. DEAD!" he shouted standing up fast and roaring the words to the sky. He looked hard into the dark sky as the stars started to break through the receding clouds. He looked down from the heavens and onto the blood soaked mud and then at his hands. So much _blood_.

He looked up at the father who was standing at the garden walls gate his family huddled in the farmhouse door behind him staring at the man with terror thick in their eyes.

"What should I do with him?" the man asked the father in a quiet helpless voice. He father looked past at the fat man squirming in the mud under the steel boot. Without speaking the father walked out past the man and on his way picked up a discarded rifle. He moved over to the fat man, starred into those piggish eyes just as the realisation dawned and shot the bandit leader through the head.

The man grinned, "ha, and it all falls down," he muttered before he toppled onto his back staring up at the sky as something dark started to pool out of a hole in his chest.

Oblivion consumed him as delirium and exhaustion wormed their way into the black matter of his brain as everything dissolved…here come the monsters.


	8. Chapter 8

**_AN: call a late night an idea_**

_When she was a child her father took her before the father of Darwinism. A withered body wrapped up in thick sheets on a grand bed with strange tubes leading from large vials filled with strange liquids snaking underneath the fabric._

_The smell of rot mingles in the musty air. Death lurks here._

_A weathered face composed of a mass of white hair and wrinkled flesh with two shining eyes staring down at her from its position on a pile of pillows to her standing at the beds foot._

'_Leave us,' says the face in a quiet, but hard voice that allows no challenge. Her father lets go of her hand and leaves reverently._

'_Do you see that, child?' says her grandfather after her father has left, 'they all treat me like I'm some sort of deity.'_

'_Strange isn't it,' says the girl with a sarcasm a girl of eight should not have._

_The old man stares at her for a long time and then a smile stretches across that ancient face. _

'_They have plans for you, girl.' The both stare at each other. Both with old all-seeing eyes._

'_I have plans for them,' replies the girl. A heat wave rises in that stare._

_A long minute…and the old man roars with a choking laughter._

_It putters out becoming a dry wheezing like a bellows._

'_And what of God. They say He has a plan for all of us,' says the man. The smile gone staring intently at her across the bed. _

_She knows the importance of what she says next._

_She smiles a confident smile. An ambitious smile._

_A knowing smile._

'_I have a plan for all of them, even God.'_

'_Good. We have much work to do, Nora. And you have far to go if you are to be my successor.' The old man shares that smile and for the first time she feels likes she met an equal._

Imagine you floated high above the earth. Up here there is no howling gale or sound of birds and insects or even the pull of gravity that holds us to the ground. Only raw sunlight and the blue marble globe below spinning against a myriad of stars.

Look to Western Europe where once there were vast rolling meadows clouded by sprawling forests leading to towering snow-capped mountains. Nothing can be seen now apart from the ever Turning storm that stretches across the land once known as France. It claws at the tiny island of Britain and reaches for the Netherlands far to the north. They call it the Kaiser's wraith and with good reason.

Ten were used to burn a line from the North Sea down arching through the European mainland to the Italian coast and from their birth spawned the ravaging storm. On the other side of the German Imperium another twenty were used to stop the spread of Russia by burning a line from the Gulf of Riga down through eastern Austro-Hungary, splitting Romania in half and continuing on through Bulgaria, Serbia and finally stopping at on the coast of Albania, growling at the heel of Italy.

Deep craters pocket this once fertile land. It is now a harsh waste reduced to an irradiated swamp and moorland where the fog covers the poisoned waters and in the gloom _things_ can be seen skulking silently through the reeds.

But what could warrant such destruction?

The Plague was the Darwinists greatest weapon. A virus that could adapt and infect and kill within a matter of torturous hours or linger in a person for days reducing even the kindest soul to a twisted raging monster as the virus's claws sunk into their brains. Blood wept from eyes and sores while the stench of rot clung to the infected like a shroud marking the walking dead. The day of suns marked the end of the pathogens rampage. Yet its effect on the planet and the fear it instilled will echo for coming ages.

The sky was torn asunder by the roaring gales and the land was scorched by a fire so hot it burned the ground to a cracked black glass. Ash and smoke poisoned the air and a black melting rain that _changed _life and warped the ground.

The storm rages with green flashes of radioactive fire flaring silently in the endlessly rotating clouds. Move your eye from the deadlands of Europe across the vast cold Atlantic. America lies as a collapsing union as old wounds start to once again bleed and fester while in the east an empress rules over Asian and marches to the coast wrestling control for the China Sea and Pacific waters from the dominating Japanese fleets.

_Oh how different things could have been. _

There is place far to the south where the bulging sun sets over the vast empty deserts and dense silent woodlands. It is an ancient land with stories reaching back to the dawn of civilisation. A land of red-dirt plains and billabongs teeming with life. Forests so old they no longer count as being _old_ they simply _are_. Towering moss-stained mountains stretch down from north to south locking the moisture rich pacific winds from feeding the deserts of the interior. An island continent.

Yet this not the place we travel to. Look further south just off the coast.

Another island, one even older than its larger brother. Here the eucalyptus grow tall and strong in the warm summers and remain standing through the long dark winters. There is no breeze just the sound of a babbling forest brook that snakes through the quiet undergrowth. Boarded by thin twisted myrtlewood and weather worn rocks all covered in damp lichen.

A slender creature marked with tiger stripes and golden fur prowls through the shadows. Another appears and then several other smaller ones scurrying between their parents legs. Then the forest breaks into a clearing and you find…a white picket fence bordering a lush garden filled with bright colours and thick smells of a hundred different flowers and herbs that bunch close together all clambering for the feeling of the life giving sun. Beyond this is a small stone cottage that looks like it's just sprung up out of the ground. Bee's fil the air, buzzing amongst the thyme and rosemary with their attention fixated on the hard and mysterious work that Bees do.

The fence breaks at a beautifully carved gate that is painted with strange swirling patterns and leads onto a snaking stone garden path that leads up to the cottage's front door and then breaks in two looping around the side and towards the back of the house. Small shrubs and bushes of heather and lavender line the side paths with budding Silver Birch and Beech saplings. At the back of the house is a vegetable garden with ordered rows of carrots, cabbage and ripening tomatoes hanging heavily from their branches. There's a hen house and lining the back of all this, sitting comfortably against the back fence and amongst the flowering Salvia plants are four paint-chipped beehives.

Here the bees swarm in their millions moving in and out of their hives bring in fresh nectar or leaving to gather more. In the far right corner of the garden just out of range of the almost frantic buzzing is an old weather beaten shed. The outside is nothing special and the inside is even less with its dark musty interior with many cobweb ridden shelves lined with a variety of jars and pots and strange bee keeper instruments that smell of old honey and wasp poisons.

It's here a woman sits in an old cane chair watching the flight of bees from the cool shade. One leg crossed over the other balancing a yellowing note book that is scribbled in from time to time.

At her side deep asleep in the warm air is a faithful Thylacine. The beast moaned softly from time to time as an elusive wallaby evades it in the dream world.

Its ears prick.

Something has changed in the buzzing of the bees. Every single one had stopped.

Billions of tiny eyes watched.

The woman put down the pen and began pouring another cup of deep amber coloured tea.

The thylacine raised its head and with predator intelligence evaluated the intruder. A second later it lowered its head back onto its paws, flattened its ears and never took its eyes of the new presence. Not even daring to whimper.

The creature stood over seven feet tall. Its body covered by thick spiky hair that appears to be so black that it absorbs the surrounding light. It creates a strange impression in the air as if every single follicle is shimmering and vibrating as one. Creating a deep outline.

When you think of this creature think Yeti. A towering half-man, half-ape with thick powerful muscles roped over a bulky frame. The creature, however possesses no face. Instead there is simply a mouth.

A wide terrifying maw lined with rows of sharp canines and slicing incisors followed by bone crushing molars it is a beast _made_ for war. Its teeth also seemed to glow an eerie green from the strange fluid that oozes from its gums.

And right now it stood stock still on the woman's garden path as if at attention.

"Godfrey, won't you join me for tea?" asked the woman holding out a delicate china cup and saucer. The creature gave what could be considered a sniff as several gill-like flaps along its muscle bound neck opened and sucked in a sample of the atmosphere.

Its black fur rippled.

The creature seemed to relax and with two strides reached the woman and with the grace that should not accompany such a creature of that size grasped the saucer with a hand like a banana bunch and tipped with sharp talons.

At her side the Thylacine never moved a muscle.

The creature brought the saucer up and with its other hand curled a single digit carefully through the handle and took a sip of the tea.

"An excellent example of Twining's Earl Grey, Ma'am," said the creature without moving its jaw in an, if slightly metal tone, British upper-class accent. A drop of the ooze fell from its mouth and landed on the grass in a flare of blue fire and a high fizzling sound.

"Ah, glad to see Doctor Nathaniel managed to correct the voice box's pitch problem," said the woman in a casual tone of someone who doesn't think a seven foot monster speaking is as insane as it sounds. The grass seemed to sway and close over the brunt patch where the ooze had fallen.

The creature placed the cup back on the saucer and arched its head up and with its free hand began scratching at what appeared to be a metal disc with an inner surface made of wire mesh that appeared to have been bolted onto the underside of its neck creating a section of scared inflamed flesh. "The device is working within estimated boundaries. However it itches the fur to know end, Ma'am," said the voice in a slightly irritated tone. The wire mesh vibrated every time the beast spoke as the speaker integrated with the creatures own vocal chords and translated them into human tongue.

"This is only the prototype, Godfrey and many more improvements are to be made. But it is good to hear you sounding normal again," said the woman in that same casual tone of someone merely discussing the weather with a fellow colleague.

"Was my combat performance sufficient though?" asked the creature almost pleadingly.

The woman smiled as one might to a child awaiting praise, "Your performance was excellent, Godfrey. The admiralty were very impressed with you and have rescheduled field deployment for an earlier date."

The creatures gave a gruff snort through its 'gills' and nodded its massive head, "My brothers will be glad to hear of this, my lady," It gave the impression it was grinning.

"Now our work can finally begin," the woman gave a warm smile and stared at the creature with her eyes that glowed a dark gold around a black pupil. As one the bees took flight and began swarming again with renewed agitation. The woman stood and walked over to the beehives.

The creature moved into a kneeling bow, "Tis our purpose to serve our Lady," said the monster in that deep metal voice.

The woman's grin never shifted yet its intonation seemed to change and direct a new darker tone. A menacing smile filled with a strange calculating insanity. The Bees swarmed around her as if recognising a superior. She raised her arms and the bees swarmed with the action becoming a tornado of tiny buzzing bodies.

"What of the Nightmare Child?" asked the monster hungrily.

The woman smile stretched further becoming more wolf-like. "Her time will come, Godfrey. Hers and that darling prince."

The monster growled, "The Forgotten Monarch who now commands the greatest land ship on the planet," the monster bared more teeth and snarled, "They will fall at our claws. Every last one."

Green fluorescent ooze dripped between its jaws and slobbered onto the ground flaring blue flame on contact.

The woman's eyes glow a terrible rich gold that shines a _dark_ light and a high laughter joins the symphony of the wings.

Draw your eyes back from this small blip and return above the cloud belt. Imagine an infinite Chess board that curves away into the horizon with beautifully carved figurines dotting the vast chequered landscape. Above all this hang malevolent hands pushing pieces under the black heavens in an endless dance of falling kings and rising nations.

One commands all the beasts of the land and birds of the sky and creatures of the sea.

The other wrights its power in the weight of steel and iron and the power of fire and steam

_Long plans indeed._


	9. Chapter 9

_Newkirk had no love for the old count, but even he held him in respect and would be first to tell the tale of how he stood down a force of over two hundred men with nothing but an old walker cannon and a freshly sharpened sabre. He would speak of how the old soldier managed to cull more than two thirds of that number before he fell. The old Wildcount died hard, but died well with a smile on his lips, a spark in his eyes and with his sword buried in his foe._

It took a further two weeks of steady travel to cross the Plains of Silence and reach the Saviours Pass a long, mostly flat, road that held multiple tracks for trains and for caravans of pack animals and vehicles. It was a masterstroke of engineer that during the height of African colonialism connected all the major ports of the continent. It stretched from deepest south the furthest north and joined the east and west together in a distorted cross that had been pressed into the land by the sweat of men and Mammothine.

Branching out like the nerves along a spine were smaller roads leading to multitudes of now independent towns, mines and farms that once formed the bed rock of a mighty colonial power, but now left to their own devices and in some cases abandonment as plague and banditry force people away.

Before the Collapse the Saviours Pass united the mineral rich continent under the heavy boots of the British, Dutch and Belgium empires. These once proud and pious empires are now nothing but dust and legend as the lands they once ruled are now left to the people they once enslaved. Warlords rule the lawless hills outside the Freestates's borders with harsh regimes that follow great ambitions to rival the ancient empires of the Mali and Ghana. The western ruins of Africa are held by the bloodthirsty tribes of the Ivory Coast that hunt with stolen vehicles now transformed into foul monsters of metal that prowl across the dry scrublands while their drug-fuelled drivers cry blood curdling war chants and worship the roar of the V8.

The southern trail is slowly being consumed by the marching forests and watched by the Jungle Queen whose warriors blend into the mist and mud of the dense rainforests of the darkest Africa and wield weapons of old made of wood and sharpened stone. They compete with the self-proclaimed rulers of the southern kingdoms who dominate the expansive veldt on the backs of painted elephants. Only the northern plain and eastern track remain safe to travel, however with the fall of Cairo the desert road now leads to nothing, but smoking plague-ridden cities. Africa was always a wild land even with the rise of man and now with its fall the wilderness had reclaimed what was stolen.

The St Clair being the size it was could not directly follow the trail but instead merely used it as a marker to follow to the Freestates capital of Berbera. Once a distant British outpost on the edge of an empire now revolutionised by a great influx in Clanker and Darwinist technologies had seen the city grow from a few hundred thousand to over eight million in the space of twenty years. With its army of mechanized armour and fleets of airships it is the strongest African province on the continent.

The Saviour Pass took the St Clair down near the dark mystery of the African interior as they skirted the border of Ethiopia, moving through the Kenyan lowlands. The Steenbok at Cassandra's request had been tethered to the St Clair to conserve its hydrogen batteries. Alek's trust towards Cassandra was a fragile thing yet the woman had remained honourable to their deal.

Alek knew that without her help during the battle the fires that engulfed the St Clair would have spread and would have crippled them and the raiders would have shown no mercy. However, even at the promise of the Freestates surrounding territory being bandit free Alek still had round the clock watch and scout bikes sent out regularly.

The days were long and hot under the sweltering gaze of that African sun. In off hours both the crews of the Steenbok and the St Clair shared the massive walker's forward deck and wallowed in the heat. Gambling and trading was commonplace as was the mingling between the refugees and crews who had been allowed up onto the deck as well. Smoke and dust tuned the sun into a deep orang at night and a rising crimson star at dawn sending an eerie glow across the homeland of mankind.

At times the St Clair would stop at the many towns and trading posts along the Saviours eastern road that serviced the hundreds of caravans and trains that passed through on their way to the heart of the Freestates. It was a strange sight: a battleship crawling across the land like a spider with a flying whale above basking in the in the hot days and dozing off in the cool nights.

Children came running from their family homesteads or wagons stopping at a distance shyly staring in wonder at the size of the Mann O War and daring one another to get closer to hulking metal monster. Their more serious minded parents haggled over the price of supplies while cautiously eyeing the hulking turrets and the swirling black mass of what looked like to be starlings but where making noises like screaming demons dance around the airship above.

In the air flew strings of sky trains that snaked through the air with their white envelopes looking like a necklace of pearls in the day and then shifted to soft amber bulbs at night as their running lamps pulsed in the breeze. Airships of all sizes drifted lazily though the air with some smaller military vessels pulling alongside the Steenbok at random interval using the massive ship as an improvised carrier.

At each major trading post of town was a marked area just on the outskirts that was rolled flat for the airships to land as well as some tall mooring towers that rose above the ground like the fingers of long buried gods.

Great fabricated beasts hauled even greater carts of goods along the dusty highway. Massive bulls and camels moaned and groaned at the weight of their cargo as the smell of manure and dirt all baked under the hot sun filled Alek's nostrils.

Long ago he had thought of the travelling rogues and their unrestrained lives with childish wonder. Their freedom sounded like a fantasy and while this illusion had been tarnished with time and the cost had been high there were moments where he found himself smiling at the freedom he now too enjoyed.

In front of him Newkirk loaded another six rounds into his Winchester before raising it to his shoulder, "Pull!" he shouted and then narrowed one eye tracking the clay disc that had been launched from the catapult next to him.

"It's gone too far," said Alek with a yawn as he reclined into the deck chair. Newkirk didn't answer instead he simply moved his aim a fraction left of the target and fired before turning round to face Alek with his gun cocked on his shoulder just as the clay disc and bullet impacted each other.

With a smile Newkirk said, "You were saying." Out of the corner of his eye Alek noticed a handful of people within the watching crowd exchange handfuls of money. He reloaded the catapult and accepted the gun from Newkirk's outstretched hand moving past him and into position. He brought the rifle up to bear adjusted the sight just a tad, cleared his throat and took his time through all of his little preparation just to annoy Newkirk.

"Pull!" he shouted and immediately started tracking the clay pigeon as it spun out into the air. He pulled the trigger and waited for connection.

The disc didn't break and kept flying. As one man the crowd of watchers leaned in expectantly.

In a fast flick of his wrist he snapped another round into the chamber, aimed again and fired. The tiny speck that was vanishing against the background of smudged brown and green hills shattered into a cloud of brown dust. His audience clapped with a few cheers and then proceeded to collect or pay off various bets.

Alek handed the rifle back to Newkirk, "So?" he asked.

Newkirk shrugged in the way of someone who knows they've won.

"I thought it was a rather good shot," said the approaching figure of Captain Ardis. She turned to the onlookers and with a hard gaze and arched eyebrow sent them grumbling away, "I hope I haven't interrupted, but we have something important to discuss before we reach port."

"May I ask what it's about?" asked Alek. Cassandra looked about her before answering.

"This would be better in private. And if Deryn could accompany us," she said. Alek looked back to Newkirk who gave a reluctant nod as he hefted the rifle down from his shoulders and walked up to Cassandra.

"This way," he said gesturing for them to follow. They moved from the hot daylight to the tight corridors and bulkheads of the ships interior. Crew members stepped aside and saluted sharply to Newkirk and Alek while some passed uneasy looks in Cassandras direction. They descended deeper and came across a large open room from which came a roaring and whooping of crowds. The room was mainly used for storage of some unimportant supplies, but had now been invaded a by a crowd of about thirty who now formed a loose semicircle around what for a better word an arena.

In the middle of this 'arena' under a halo of light were three figures, two of which were sweat drenched and stumbling with frustrated punches and jabs while the third dodged each every one almost appearing to simply flicker from one spot to the next. Several men sitting around the ring of the fighting pit were watching the fight intently while there hands moved fast over a variety of currencies and tradable goods. The bets were on.

Alek pushed aside several watchers making a hole for Newkirk and Cassandra to see past the bodies of bystanders. A cheer went up as a figure fell to the ground.

"Whose winning?!" shouted Cassandra over the din. Alek turned to her and simply pointed to the third figure who was standing dead centre of the light. Deryn Sharp stood there with fist clenched and held low at her hips while she moved her legs into a slayed position readying for another blur of movement. Her opponent was staring dumbstruck at the muscular man who had just fallen and then back to Deryn who gave a confident grin and raised one arm making a 'bring it' motion with her fingers.

The man gathered his wits for a final push, spat a gob of spit to the side and charged Deryn who side-stepped him, grabbed his vest, lifted him up and sent him flying into the crowd. A man who was apparently umpire went over to Deryn and raised her arm in victory. The crowd gave a cheer as those who had not seen Deryn fight before stared in disbelief while the more experienced laughed and accepted their winnings.

Another challenger entered the ring. A man who stood a good two-feet above Deryn and with biceps thicker than her waist. Deryn simply readjusted the bandages over her knuckles and brought her fists up to bear facing her opponent. She shifted her legs bracing for moment. The giant raised his meaty fists and charged Deryn.

He ran hard and swung fast and…wait…was she holding his fist in place. The giant was not familiar to people standing after he hit them. Deryn had simply forced out a splayed palm and caught the momentum of the man's charge and swing. His feet shifted as if he was trying to push against a wall. With inhuman strength she pulled the man towards her and with her other hand braced it against his chest, and hauled him over and slammed him hard onto his back. He struggled to get up but his body decided it best not to and the ox of a man fell into unconsciousness. As one the crowd went wild, hooting and crying their praise.

An over-enthusiastic man beside Alek leaned to him and said without recognising who he was talking to, "She must be a wild one in the sack," he proceeded to roar with laughter while Alek simply smiled politely and replied.

"Don't I know it," and then he walked out into the centre of the arena just as the man's face fell with recognition.

The crowd's celebrations petered out fast as Alek entered with most knowing who he was and started packing their winnings away quick.

Alek took a small moment to evaluate his audience.

"Right you lot," roared Alek in a commanding tone yet there was a smile hiding in the corners of his mouth, "You know what I've said about having fighting pits on my ship," around him people began trying to look anywhere but at Alek with their heads downcast and grumbling to themselves or suddenly finding interest in their finger nails.

"We really don't have time to be putting a bunch of bloody louts in the nursing ward with some broken bones just for a couple of pounds," said Alek sternly, "Crewman Russel, did I not say to you not six months ago what a fool someone would be in betting against her," Alek jerked a thumb in Deryn direction as he spoke to a awkwardly smiling man in a grubby boiler suit.

"Aye, you did, Sir," said the man as he scratched the back of his shaven head while with his other hand he tried to hide a small bag of winnings,

"Even after a very eventful demonstration," a few chuckles from those who remembered the drunkard who made a pass at Deryn, "I would ask that you not indulge her further. Take it from someone who knows you will never win," said Alek as he turned to look at Deryn with a small smile.

"Aye, well Sir you see some of the Airheads," the man gestured to several unhappy looking men in aviator clothing, "didn't believe us and so well…" the man simply shrugged.

"Really, well I hope this puts your doubts to rest gentlemen," said Alek rounding on the grumbling airmen, "Now, I really don't want to start issuing punishment duties to stop these activates considering how close we are to Berbera, but in any case if I hear of another one of these events happening without mine or any of the other officers permission and without medical care on standby then those persons involved will find themselves on latrine duty for a month. Do I make myself clear?" he stared around the room in the silence that followed as slowly the audience nodded and muttered their understanding.

"Right, now clear off," he said and his audience began shambling for the exit.

One of the bookies ambled over to Deryn and handed her own purse of coin. She accepted it and tucked it away into her cleavage and continued with unbandaging her hands. The man left and tipped his hat to Alek and Newkirk as he passed as well as handing Newkirk a purse of winnings.

"What? I have an expensive habit," he said to Alek who was staring at him with a disapproving expression.

"You know it would help if you wouldn't encourage this sort of thing," Alek said.

"I'm not encouraging it. I'm simply taking advantage of a unique situation where I know what the chances of me or in fact her winning are," said Newkirk in defence.

"So really those coppers are mine then," said Deryn from over in the corner.

"Hey, you already got yours as it is," said Newkirk quickly stuffing the purse into his pocket.

"You know when I said I would keep your secret from my superiors I did also sort of mean you not expose yourself to my crew," said Cassandra as she pursed her lips.

"Who's going to believe some desperate refugees and puffed up airheads about a girl with a super human speed and strength," replied Deryn, "Anyway I doubt any of them would admit to losing to a girl."

Cassandra shrugged.

"In any case what did you want to talk to us about?" asked Alek.

"There are somethings I need to show you and discuss so if you could follow me Commander Hopkins will be waiting for us," she replied before leaving the room the others ambling after her.

Alek moved back beside Deryn and muttered to her, "I though you said you wouldn't be a part of this again."

"Alek, I sometimes everyone needs to just let go," she said, "I've been like this too long for you not to understand why I need to release sometimes."

"You're right, sorry," he said head bowed.

She stopped and turned to him lifting his head to face her and kissed him deep. Cassandra paused for a second and looked back at them her expression never leaving that calm look before she tuned back and kept walking.

Deryn broke the kiss and considered his eyes, "Don't ever feel like you need to apologise to me. Not ever," and she moved off.

They travelled through the tight corridors towards the rear of the ship. The cylindrical elevator sat on the platform much like it had on their first meeting. Before leaving Alek informed his officers of where they were heading and silently handed Newkirk a pistol from a concealed gun cabinet in the wall before embarking onto the elevator. The accent was quick and smooth with the sensation much like that of a normal building elevator accept this one seemed to rise at an angle as it climbed the bending cable.

When they reached the airship to all three it was like stepping off into youths. The detectable sway of the airship and breezy feeling of being held aloft against the wishes of gravity. As one they breathed in and the warm feeling of nostalgia briefly overrode their concerns.

Cassandra seemed to carry herself differently as if simultaneously trying to not to show off but also couldn't help herself. This ship was everything to her it was clear. Aviators hustled across the gangways and catwalks that crisscrossed the expansive void where the open hangar doors dropped away to the St Clair below. Above in the rafters War Hawks cried and glided in and out of narrow slits.

Alek walked out from the elevator bordering platform and onto the large central walkway that ran through the centre of the hangar placing a hand onto the strong wooden railing and peering over the edge. Childhood glee couldn't help but bubble up at the sense of his stomach dropping at the sight of his ship from such a height.

The distinct Darwinist sinuous design that was woven into the wooden supports and structures was clear and familiar to him, but to Newkirk and Deryn it was more that familiarity. In a way both had just come home.

"Not to interrupt, but if you could follow me," said Cassandra gesturing for them to follow her across the hangar. They moved through the gait space as the wind tousled at their hair and clothes in swift gusts.

They crossed and moved into the collection of gondolas that massed between the bridge and hangar. The moved through the corridors of the gondolas eventually coming to a small room in which there was only one light that illuminated a waist-high round table that was covered by a detailed map of the known world. They entered and Cassandra shut the door behind her.

"Captain, welcome back,' said a gruff voice from the shadows.

"Thank you Commander," said Cassandra as she approached the table. Hopkins emerged from the far side shadows withdrawing from his salute.

He was without his armour and instead was dressed in a full body grey flight suit with zip down revealing a white vest stretched over his muscle bound body. His blond hair was cut short with a well-trimmed beard and despite the lack of several inches of battle armour the man still cut an imposing presence.

He nodded to Alek, Deryn and Newkirk. "Welcome aboard," he said and while his face never left its neutral expression there was a hint of pride in his voice.

"A fine ship it is," said Newkirk and to both Alek's and Deryn's mild surprise there was sarcasm in his voice, "Shall we begin," he said turning to Cassandra.

"certainly," she walked over to the table joining the commander on the other side and leaned onto the table over the map, "Before we enter Berbera I need to know some things and you need to know some things, but I'm going to need for you to understand that it will require your absolute honesty and trust that whatever is said in this room cannot leave it," she stared at each of them with a hard expression.

Alek leaded forward and mirrored Cassandras pose examining the map on the table, "the St Clair was found abandoned in dry dock just eight miles behind the Miracle Mile," Alek said pointing to the eastern fringes of the German border. The map was old from before the Collapse with countries such as Romania and Serbia still adorning it, "It took six months to get just two engines working but we managed."

He looked up and met their faces. The answer he had given them was a minor one compared to the glaring one they wanted. _Who was he?_ That was the burning bit of knowledge they demanded.

Who was this young man who stood before them with a loyal crew, a tamed monster and a powerful vessel?

"You know what I want, Alek," said Cassandra softly. "You are not simply a merchant who came across that ship. Someone must have given it to you and for them to that you must have had something of unimaginable importance."

He met their eyes and then tuned back to face his friends. Newkirk shrugged and moved to lean back against the wall. Deryn stared at him and gave a subtle nod.

He turned back arms crossed and then his posture changed into one that he had nearly forgotten. Straight back, hands dropped to his side and head held high. Drilled relentlessly into him by his tutors.

_A prince must look princely._

His face relaxed into a small smile and then he spoke.

"My name is Prince Aleksandar of Hohenberg, son of the murdered Archduke Franz Ferdinand and Princess Sophia of Hohenberg of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. This is Deryn Sharp last survivor of Project Berserker and Eugene William Newkirk former Midshipman of the HMS Leviathan." Hopkins eyes narrowed and Cassandra raised a single quizzical eyebrow.

Newkirk grinned and Deryn smirked while Alek he just kept staring at Casandra and Hopkins.

He sighed and looked back down at the man and in a quiet voice he began their story.

"It all seemed so easy after everything I'd seen in the war. We had our whole lives ahead of us, but then we saw the Plague victims with their tears of blood and then the blinding fire and that black smoke rising above everything…"

On the farm she was happy. But her father sent to school anyway.

Time passed and she was happy, but then a man in an officer's uniform came to her school and gave everyone a test.

Years later after she left school and returned to the farm the man came back and this time for her.

They'd watched her grow he said and wanted to offer her something.

Enough money to get her parents out of the dirt and well on their way to a comfortable coffin.

She didn't want to go but her mother's health and fathers failing bones made her go.

The man smiled at her and offered a gloved hand to take her away.

That smile though. It was not a nice smile.

It was a smile used by people who never smile.

A smile that told her she was nothing. A lump of clay that could given a proper shape.

"_We have need of that mind of yours girl."_

They taught her well.

Perhaps too well.


	10. stories Past I

_Strange liquids bubbled and frothed, delicate machines pumped and wheezed as gloved fingers danced over the still body. Straw blond hair spread back and her chest laid open for the surgeon's work. Eyes closed and deathly pale as if she was playing the corpse. Strange fleshy organs coloured in sickly purples, reds and blacks are withdrawn from glass jars and inserted into the fragile body._

_Through a set of sealed doors that leave the theatre and down a polished corridor a young man paces nervously. Haggard and tired beyond belief, while sitting in the one of the chairs that line the wall is an older man with a bleak expression on his hard face._

_An inhuman shriek. _

_The young man startles and starts to move for the door but the older man says something that makes him stop just at the door. Later he will wish he'd not listened. _

_A woman puts a gentle hand on his shoulder and reassures him of the importance of this sacrifice. He believes it is a sacrifice to cure the Plague._

_He is wrong._

_And then he learned the truth._

Stupid…

Blind…

Idiot…

She betrayed you.

How could you let her?

She promised you a new life, a new start.

She lied to you. She lied and you believed her.

He confronted her with the evidence. The office was cool and filled with light that streamed through tall open windows. The white curtains drifted in the gentle breeze as the sound of half a dozen bird songs fluttered from the outside.

He didn't bother to knock and he had crossed the room to her ancient wooden desk before she'd even looked up. He tossed a brown folder bound in crimson ribbon and stamped with angry red letters that read **TOP SECERT** in front of her.

A pot of tea rattled with the force of impact.

It was no mistake, he was angry. He was furious.

With a slowness he knew was deliberate she removed her glasses and looked up at him clasping her hands under her chin.

"Alek what can I do for you this fine afternoon," her voice as calm and friendly yet that smile seemed to hide ill intent.

"You can start by damn well explaining what the hell that means," his tone boarded on shouting as he pointed an accusing finger at the document.

She looked at the folder not even bothering to feign surprise or shock or even to berate him for having such sensitive material. He wished she'd react in some way just to let him at least retaliate and let this anger loose. But she didn't, she just picked it up and began leafing through it nodding her agreement at certain intervals.

"A good report, I know I can always rely on Jansen to get the right details down in clean and precise way. I mean you seemed to have had no trouble with the language involved," she said her attempt at provoking him blatantly obvious. He would not let her rile him further with such simple insults.

"You gave us a place. What happened to make you betray us like this?" he asked so shocked and hurt to be bordering on tears.

She held his gaze, "The plague happened, Alek. And with it all the rules changed. Geneva is a smoking ruin and now with the world in such upheaval as the developed world dies we had the excuse to finally be able to create the perfect human. This goes way beyond our friendship, this is my life's work. Deryn just happen to tick all the right genetic boxes," she said in a voice layered in passion and righteous belief. You could almost hear the orchestra rise up behind her words as she spoke of the dreams she held.

Alek didn't care for her anymore. She had dismissed Deryn, his dazzling, brave and golden hearted Deryn, as merely another one of her fabricants made to be experimented on and tortured to simply answer the question: what if?

"What have you done to her," she asked his voice barely audible.

"As I said we made her better."

"And what does that mean exactly?"

Barlow smiled again and outside the birds stopped their song, "I mean we made her better, stronger, faster. We gave here everything two hundred thousand years of evolution could not. We found our eve, saw the best god could do and improved on everything," she said.

Alek looked at her, he stared into her eyes and instead of finding the insanity he had hoped to find he came across something far more dangerous. Someone so sane that it was a madness to itself, a sanity that held knowledge way above the ken of man and instead of breaking her it had only strengthened her beliefs.

"What happened to you, Nora?" he asked. She blinked and gave an odd expression, she had not expected this question.

"What do you mean what happened to me?" she asked confused.

"You were kind once," he said with such a sadness, "what will happen to her now?"

Barlow stared at him. He thought her kind just because she had given him a tiny cramped apartment and a job that barely kept the heating on in winter. She didn't understand that he only needed his friends and his lover to keep him righted to the earth. She had needed Deryn's skills what purpose did she have for a prince who had forsaken his throne, "She will be put to good use and serve the empire as all agents of the Zoo are swore to."

"So she will be your weapon, a blade in the night to keep Britain's power," he said his anger building.

"If that is what is required of her then yes,"

"I won't let you," he says and there is a strange fire in his voice that tells of a conviction that would never break.

"I like to see you try and stop me," she said in quiet threatening voice.

And then the spell broke and he turned and left without another word.

It took forty eight hours for Volger to prepare. The old count had simply nodded when Alek had asked him to help rescues Deryn from the depths of the Zoo's vaults. Few words had passed between them aside from their scheming but then again the two had shared so much that words were unnecessary.

Volger had taken the news of Austria's devastation badly and now was troubled by broken sleep and painful memories as he realised his home was gone. As for Alek he had tried to care but in the end all he could think of was Deryn's screams and then he felt terrible for the millions of what used to be his citizens who had died. But then he reasoned he would have joined them in death had he not rejected the throne. And in the end they were dust and Deryn still lived.

Neither said it, but they both knew this would be the last time they saw each other.

"Thankyou…for everything," Alek had said quietly as they crouched in the dark before their diverging paths.

"They would be so proud of you, Alek. And I am so grateful for being given this chance to see you grow. Now go save her and live a life that you deserve,' he placed a hand on Alek's shoulder, "I expect great things of you boy," he muttered with a small smile and with that the count vanished into the velvet night.

The corridors where dark and empty at this time of night. Her room was deep down in the cold labyrinth where the tall halls where illuminated with the flickering light of argon lanterns. Small stone cells lined the corridors sealed by thick steel doors. Yet they paled in comparison to the heavy iron door that guarded the cell at the end of the corridor. It was ancient and the multitude of gouges, blast marks and dents told Alek of the beasts it had kept contained.

The house of monsters.

He retrieved a wad of organic explosive and with three successive blasts the door fell with a heavy clang. Above came the rolling thunder clap as the Zoo's private hangars erupted in fire. Alek tried not to think of the living airships that would now be nothing but charred carcasses.

He moved through the threshold as motes of dust cascaded from the high ceiling.

Her body was clothed in the thick clothe of a straight jacket and her limbs tangled and shackled in thick chains that wrapped her body and kept her restrained to the far wall.

Her bare legs and arms where chaffed and red raw where she'd pulled and tested the chains strength and surrounding her scrunched form where long gouges in the stone floor where her fingers had dragged at the ground

Her dirty mop of hair was cast over her face which dangled drown in front of her face. The room stank of blood and filth.

There was a growl, "you shouldn't have come," her voice was raspy and tinged with animal grunts but he could also hear the sounds of worry in her voice.

"I couldn't leave you here, I can't leave you, Deryn," he moved to her upholstering his pack and retrieving the bolt cutters and began working on the chains. Slow work, but he managed to cut through the old metal one link at a time.

"Idiot, they'll kill you for this," she muttered with exhaustion thick in her voice.

"Your one to talk, from what I've heard of the beatings they given you," he said it in a half-hearted way, but in truth he wished with every fibre in his being to hunt down those who would beat a girl.

She turned her face to him and behind her mask of hair he saw a wicked grin and bright blue eyes, "You should've seen the other guy," she whispered with swagger that only she could muster.

The last chain fell away and there was a brief moment before she lunged him pushing his body to the cold stone floor and embraced him in a tight hug. They lay like that for a while and then gingerly she dropped into a long kiss. And despite the cold Alek felt a sweat brewing.

The sound of boots echoing on tiled floors disturbed them. The jailors were coming. Deryn looked down at him and winked before she stretched her arms and neck until they cracked and then in a blur of motion she launched up into the dark rafters. The guards arrived a second later as Alek drew himself up onto his knees. They pointed their rifles at him. He tentatively raised his hands, "I don't suppose you'd consider surrendering?" he asked politely.

The four guards looked at each other. Behind their gasmasks they seemed to reach a conclusion. They raised their rifles and as one they moved past the threshold of the hall and into the dim abyss of the cell. A black shape dropped amongst them and with a swipe of one clawed hand severed a head. A moment passed and the thing launched at the guard while the others began to bring their weapons to bear. It grabbed the second man and hauled him around holding him tight with strong arms and its jaw engulfing his neck. It dragged him into the others line of fire as they pulled on triggers. The guard's body trembled with the bullet impacts and was then thrown at one of his remaining comrades while the attacker blurred forward and with two successive japs with her clawed fingers disembowelled another guard.

The one reaming soldier managed to dump the body and roll out of reach just as a deadly swipe nearly took off his face. He brought up the rifle and shot Deryn square in the chest. The bullet ripped right through her chest cavity creating an orange-sized exit hole in her back. She howled and staggered and looked like she would fall but then her legs tensed and she held.

"Been a while since I last smelt fresh blood," she muttered as she gazed hungrily at the last warden who now lay on floor staring up at her with raw terror scrawling across his face, "that wouldn't have hurt normally, but as you can probably tell I'm a bit famished," she was practically drooling as she closed in on him, clawed hands stretched out.

Alek was going to intervene, he told himself. But the truth was he was just as frozen with fear as the man who was about to be devoured. He would have stopped her, he told himself over and over. So why didn't he? And he found he never had an answer. Fear is a powerful weapon and within Deryn's black eyes there was a reservoir of fear that spilled out and trapped all who stared. Her face was drawn back to show her hunger was absolute and without end.

She had the mercy to snap her prey's neck first though.


	11. Stories Past II

_The count looked over the fires and smoke._

_His enemies came running._

_And he opened fire._

Newkirk was deep asleep when he the alarm and flashing red lights woke him. He rolled off the top bunk while all around his fellow bunk mates ran past him. He blinked the sleep from his eyes as he saw them all beginning to run for the barracks doors. He looked towards where they were all running and suddenly all notions of sleep escaped him and he found his heart suddenly racing as he suddenly tied what he saw beyond the open doors and the alarm.

Fire is an airman's worst fear. The clawing, biting hot jaws that snap shut and refuse to let go. Even the idea of falling does not even reach the same level of terror as fire does. A single, simple spark flickers into being and suddenly its unending hunger and almost unstoppable advance burns through the wood and flesh before barely touching the precious gas sacks and…

Nothing would escape then.

So as Newkirk ran out into the stream of other fellow airmen from their barracks and joined the larger river of sprinting bodies as all the other barracks spilled open and the army of flyers ran out onto the long airfield as the witnessed the hangars at the other end burn with high flames and columns of dense black smoke. He found himself joining in the swelling pool of fear and despair as their joint fears exploded before them.

All seven hangars were ablaze as every single fabricated airship burned within. Half dead figures staggered out of the inferno as water carts were hauled across to the hangars by their crews and beasts. Deep bellowing moans of dying whales echoed into the night and then cut off as more explosions ripped through the air.

Newkirk watched the pyres as his fellow airmen run in all directions as they all mobilized to fight the flames.

As a river of panicked bodies swarmed around him he heard his name called.

"Airmen Newkirk, I say, airmen Newkirk!" shouted a voice from behind him. He turned from the swirling mass of burning whales, smoke and fire and found himself staring at a heavily armoured figure in what he recognised as Huntsman gear standing before him, "Airmen Newkirk?" the figure asked. Newkirk gave a bewildered nod, "would you follow me, sir," said the man gesturing to an armoured carriage behind him. The beasts pulling it barely noting the rippling moaning sound of fellow fabricants burning.

"Why?" he asked finding his voice.

Behind the figures helmet grill he thought he saw a flicker of annoyance, "I'm afraid it's a matter of national interest," replied the figure gesturing again to the carriage.

Newkirk looked back at the blaze and then back again he started to speak but he was cut off, "Im sorry, sir, but this is an order."

"On whose authority?" he inquired and immediately whished he hadn't. The figure before him seemed to stiffen slightly and one hand went to grip a large pistol at his waste.

"On mine, sir," said with a sharp edge perceivable to his tone. And with a terrible realisation that he had no choice Newkirk followed the armoured Huntsman.

They were black. So very black as to seem to absorb any light that dare try to burn away the dark. Yet in that liquid night there were small pinpricks of milky white dots smattered over the surface. It looked like someone had poured the night sky into her eyes. Constellations peered at Alek out of the face of the most beautiful girl Alek had ever known.

He was captivated. He was enthralled. He was…he was trapped like an animal caught in the headlights of a speeding car.

Then he saw what she really was.

Her face was not what he remembered. It had become more animal-like with slim contours and more shadow. As if she held it differently and the bones had shifted to become _sharper._

Her teeth were also different. They were more of them for a start. All yellow and pointed and looked very capable of pulling his throat out. They were large and sharp as they slid down over her original teeth giving her two rows of teeth. The whole effect was intensified by the blood that was splattered across her face and glistened on her sneer.

Her once pasty slightly freckled skin was now alabaster white and blemish free. Beneath her skin were tendrils of dark blue coloured capillaries now filled with whatever it was that fuelled her change. The tendrils ran across her face and down her neck like frozen forks of lighting. Her lips had become blue and her mouth had become as black as her eyes with a long crimson tongue.

Then her eyes cleared and her teeth seemed to retract and then she smiled a weak yet determined smile that brought the Deryn he knew back to him.

She stumbled back and let what was left of the man she had eaten drop onto the cold cobblestones. She leaned up against a stone wall and gazed around as if she were in a dreamy haze. She raised one blood drenched hand and her nostrils flared at the smell before she began licking it.

Alek stood up from where the man had forced him down. He looked around him at what was left of the corpse.

The head was roughly intact as it sat in the gutter kicked aside during the feeding frenzy. Lifeless eyes staring up at the dark clouds with uncomprehending fright. The neck had been torn apart right back to the spine which had simply been snapped off. He mind replayed the images of Deryn tearing open the chest cavity and roping the man's organs over her as she plundered the steaming meat within.

The quivering heart pulled from within and bolted down with those terrible teeth. Muscles and sinew and gristle all swallowed. Fuel for the fire.

The sound of bone being wrenched apart filed his mind. The screams came next.

Then came the sounds of boots running over cobblestones. Voices raised in shouts and the barks of hunting Fabricants.

"This way, they went this way!"

"Come on. Where are they?"

A group of dark figures came running out of a street looked and spotted them. Flashlight danced around catching Deryn and Alek.

"There they are!"

"Where!"

"There! Halt in the Name of His Majesty!"

Deryn looked at them lazily. Like a lion looking at an upstart goat.

She looked at Alek dreamily and smiled at him with blood stained teeth.

She left the wall and walked out into the middles of the lamp lit street. Bare feet padding across the cobblestones.

She paused and glanced over her shoulder at Alek, "Look away," she said gently. Blood caked her face yet there was an air of sadness and utter shame about her. Then her eyes darkened again and her muscles became taunt and empowered. Nails grew strong and sharp and large pointed teeth were drawn.

Alek looked from her to the running group. Dark shapes of four-legged beasts took off from their masters and charged at them. He was too tired for shock and so gave a small nod and turned his back slowly walking away down the street. His face a mass of grim realisation.

There came a terrible screeching roar that echoed across the night. And then frightened squeals and sounds of tearing flesh.

Men's cries echoed off the cold buildings as the people inside blubbered and sobbed under their quilts.

Blood splattered the cobbles and ran between the gaps into the gutters.

"No! No! Please no!" the man's pleading was cut off in a strangled gasp as something punched through his chest and began pulling out what lay inside. The street went deathly quiet save for sound of something wet and sloppy being messily chewed.

Horrifying images were cast on the building walls by the flickering lamp light.

He staggered away.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

He rounded the corner and found a survivor holding a shaking gun to his face. The boy stood a good two inches taller than him and had a terrified expression painted over his normally cheerful face he points the pistol to Alek's forehead.

The boy's eyes flickered around randomly as the sounds of the feast echoed around the quiet streets. The gun was shaking furiously now. Alek raised his hands very slowly, "Eugene look at me, look at me," the boy focused on Alek, "Eugene put the gun down very carefully and do exactly as I say."

"Sod that, she just fecking massacred them. All of them," said Newkirk in a harsh whisper.

"Yes she did, in under a minute I believe. In which case I want you to think about what you alone can do where a dozen well-armed men just died in attempting," Alek sighed and hesitantly lowered his arms, "Come on Newkirk you're a soldier not a hunter, they were trained to deal with things like her."

"There's nothing like her," interrupted Newkirk in a quivering voice though his arms did sag as Alek's words were processed. But then his gaze shifted and he raised the gun again with renewed terror.

Alek raised his hands again, "What? What is it?" Newkirk just made a strange cry.

Alek frowned in confusion then a second later something breathed down his neck.

Her breathe was warm and made his hairs stand rigid. The smell of blood was almost overpowering, "I can smell your fear," she whispered yet it comes out with a strange harmonic as if several people are speaking in unison. She breathes again deeply, "I can actually smell your fear. And you know what?"

Alek keeps staring straight ahead. Worrying for Newkirk whose gaze is no doubt fixated on those onyx eyes, "What?" he asks.

"Fear smells like piss," she says flatly.

He stifled a nervous giggle with a choking cough. It didn't work and he was soon howling with a hyperactive giggle that threatened to unleash a tide of manic laughter. He could feel their stares bore into him

He leaned back and stared up at the inky cloud covered sky. He breathes deep as he tried to calm his racing heart that she can no doubt hear and looks back down at Newkirk.

"What are doing still holding that thing, Newkirk? It not going to do anything for you. Except maybe save yourself some time," he chuckled cruelly and turned from the lad to face the beautiful demon, "You killed them all," he said with a wide smile and a crazed shine in his eyes.

She cocked her head to one side as if evaluating him. Then her skin changed from that smooth chalk white to the pasty freckled complexion he's so used to. Her eyes become luminous orbs of sky blue as the black soup retreated to the edges. She took a hesitant step and reached forward cupping the left side of his face as he stared manically at something over her shoulder. Something dark and half formed that stood three strides away. Then the spell broke and he focused on her his face dropping into a bleak look. He reached up and clasped her hand staring deep into her eyes.

"You're not a monster," he said on the verge of tears.

"Are you sure," she whispered with a sad expression.

"...Yes," he says with a sob, "Yes of course you're not a monster. Your Deryn Sharp, understand? Your Deryn bloody Sharp."

They embraced and his body shuddered with emotion.

Newkirk dropped his gaze and holstered his weapon. The stars broke through the cloud cover and the distant sound of the counts distraction rippled through the air as blossoming explosions erupted over the rows of houses.

"We need to go," Newkirk says with a firm resolve as a gust of warm air washes over them.

Deryn breaks out the embrace and walks over to him staring into his red-rimmed eyes, "if you go with us you'll never be able to come back."

He smiles a sad smile and gestures over his shoulder down the dark alley, "There's nothing back there for me and I figure you're going to need all the help you can get. So shall we."

She smiles at her friend and hugs him before nodding her thanks and the three of them run off into the twisting cobblestone streets and leave the sprawling city behind for the coast.

A look back sees a column of black smoke rising over everything and beneath its shroud amongst the raging fires an old man lay dying.

He gurgled up a dark fluid as a woman stood over him. He smiled a bloody grin.

"You played the game well, count," she says while surveying the smoke and fire around her.

"Perhaps he will play it better," he chokes, "Now be gone, I'll not have my view be ruined with your face,"

"Is this where you die and go to heaven," The woman makes a face of disgust and raises a pistol, "Superstitious nonsense."

He laughed and coughed up more blood, "I have no time for discussing matters of the celestial, though I must confess I find myself feeling rather hesitant to find what lies beyond." tears are there in his eyes.

"My leaders would want you alive, for questioning and proper punishment. But I doubt even our medical prowess could save you. Or even if I'd want to try" she said with venom added to the end.

"Time to find out if you can really pull the trigger, Nora." he says.

She clenched the pistols grip and aimed, "Goodbye count."

The man smiled, "I did my duty for the crown and have seen him grow to be the good man I knew he would become," he whispered in his home tongue. He closed and his eyes, "Time to die," he muttered with blood pooling from his wounds and his heart beat slowing a small smile spread cross his features.

And then with a resounding gunshot the man known as Count Ernst Volger fell.


	12. The true way of things

_So you want to hear the tale of how ruin came to us in the dead of night?_

_When the suns of man brought fire to our lands._

_When plague and disease corrupted and putrefied our Kin._

_The story of Sea Lords and Iron Kings._

_Of the girl forged in liquid war and the boy who shall make himself a crown._

_Of the woman who weaves life and the Solider who fights like the devil._

_And of those who brought all of the pieces together._

_Then come and listen. Hear our secrets_

**First they stole it...**

The man stumbled down the corridor carrying his crippled arm. The walls were splattered with dark gore and the gentle pulse of the pale green glow from the glow-worm lamps that ran along the walls bathed him with a grim light.

The sounds of gunfire had faded far behind him yet he did not stop to notice.

_The vault. Please no. not the vault._

He ran faster as his battered legs stumbled to keep up with his brain's demands.

He didn't even notice the bodies that lay strewn against the walls. Bloodied fingers traced shallow grooves into the concrete walls.

The Sarin gas had done its work. Many had died on both sides.

In the black depths of the Darwinists most closely guarded secret came a cry of pain as the man reached the massive vault door and saw that the great seal had been breached.

The bunker was made of solid steel that reflected only the dark red lights that provided the crapped cell's only form of illumination. At the centre of the room was a pillar constructed from a variety of valves, gauges and pipes running along its length. Steam rose off it and from below the grated floor where more simmering pipes lay while above came the humming of power from the snaking cables that lined the ceiling. Strapped to the pillar were four vertical steel cradles that should have been occupied by four canisters.

Outside the castle lay the bullet-riddled carcasses of great bears and wolves. Black armoured figures lay slumped next to them. Some still wedged in the beasts teeth.

The snow fell gently over the silent drifts of pine forests that doted the vast snow fields. Fires flared up at the night from numerous craters that were scattered across the rocky ground. More blazes raged across the structures battlements sending columns of thick black smoke skyward.

The man stumbled outside raising his one good hand to shield himself from the glare of a spotlight that suddenly swung onto him from the bloated shape of an immense zeppelin that floated just above the structure. Its engines roared and various horns sounded as other smaller zeppelins circled around the mothership.

In front of the man now also caught in the light of the spotlight was a group of armoured figures currently strapping into several quadcopters that lay parked on the snow. The figures armour was thick and appeared oversized and exaggerated the true dimensions of man. Some wore fur cloaks and rugs over parts of their armour like battle clothe. Thick breast plates and shoulder guards flexed with their busy work.

The man stumbled in the deep snow eventually collapsing onto his knees.

"You don't know what you're doing!" he roared at the figures, his grey hair dancing in the zeppelin's downdraft. More spotlights snapped on catching the silhouettes of more zeppelins up above in the cloud layer hovering at high anchor as more quadcopters buzzed around their bulging bodies like an angry cloud of flies.

The armoured warriors ignored him.

One of the figures finished fitting a steel-grey cylinder to one of the copters and stood back as it took off. The man squinted as he watched the deadliest biological agent the planet had ever seen take off from the earth and vanish into the velvet night behind the glare of the spotlight.

An armoured figure who had been watching its brother's work on the copter turned to face the kneeling man and started pacing towards him in a calculated way. This one's armour was not like the others steel blue, instead it wore a snow white armour that was marked with an emblem stamped onto the chest piece and shoulder guards in gold and midnight stencilling. It looked vaguely like someone had drawn the silhouette of an octopus over the gold outline of a machine cog. Armour plates shifted in tune to the wearer's body as micro hydraulics aided with hauling the suit forward.

As the figure moved it withdrew a pistol from its thigh holster. It paused ten paces from the man and raised the hulking revolver.

"ON THE CONTRAY MY GOOD DOCTOR I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT I'M DOING," the voice came booming from the suit's speakers and in a tone as cold as the snow that cascaded around the speaker.

The man looked into the figures covered eye-slits and shook his head. "Please, thousands will die," the man begged.

The iron-clad figure seemed to pause for thought and then said, "MILLIONS I SHOULD THINK."

"Why? Why do all this?" asked the kneeling doctor through his tears.

The armour betrayed no emotion yet the voice was filled with righteous belief, "DAWINISTS AND CLANKERS WE STAND IN JUDGEMENT TO YOU ALL. BUT FEAR NOT GOOD DOCTOR OUR WORDS ARE TRUE."

A shot rang out and the man was pushed backwards onto the thickening carpet of snow. His eyes went wide with shock as his blood poured out a fresh smoking hole in his chest. He coughed up black gunge as his lungs filled with fluid. The stars became brighter and blurred. The armoured figure walked over to the doctor and stood over him. It raised the weapon again. The old man grimaced through the pain as a trickle of blood traced down his cheek and mixed with the snow and ice.

"All those lives," He grunted, "what gives you the right."

"NOTHING GIVES US THE RIGHT, GOOD DOCTOR," Another shot and the man's body sagged into the snow, "WE TAKE IT."

The stars where bright as they pocked between the rolling clouds that dominated the sky. The figure returned to the remaining copter and a minute later took off into the air.

A great horn sounded across the snow-capped landscape. The fleet of grey armoured zeppelins swung up above clouds. From their hangars and gunports in their flanks came a sudden rush of white smoke as large explosive bolts were launched from their gas-powered catapults. The swarm of bolts arched down and consumed the smouldering castle in blossoming explosions. The structure capitulated under their bombardment. Crumbling in on its self as stone and metal were blown apart. The fleet then powered off into the distance leaving the smoking ruins to the night.

**Then they released it…**

The corpses were stacked high and doused in gasoline.

A single spark and the roar of flame rose.

Those still alive screamed as the fire lanced onto them and consumed them in chocking smoke and burning heat.

The pyres where massive and many. Torches illuminating the land in crimson light.

The black acrid smoke filled with the still lit embers of flesh dancing in the thermals like a billion fireflies. The heavy smell of burnt skin and the sweet scent of rot and festering bodies fills the air.

The infected sleepwalk in a dreamy stumbling haze of pain and sickness. Sores and eyes weep with poisoned blood. The virus burns them out fast reducing loved ones to raging beasts. Like rabid dogs they wander in a constant hunt that has lost its purpose. Legions of the dying march over the land at a shambling pace. It is left to the living to put them down.

In the Far East a girl emerged from the wandering dead. Free from infection she was treated as a prophet sent to save the weak, hungry and desperate. She led her people on a crusade to rise up and beat back the darkness. She now sits as the God-Empress ruling over China uniting her conquered neighbours under one banner. The Japanese raised a red sun over the pacific with an empire stretching all the way to Hawaii and with eyes set on the port of Darwin far to the south.

**Forcing his hand…**

The room was expansive and centred on a large round table with ancient wooden chairs for over twenty people. Today they were all filled with grim-faced men and woman all encased in crisp and lean uniforms with dozens of medals and stripes and pins lining them. All eyes and attention was focused on the imposing iron chair that faced towards the chambers thick doors. It was more throne than chair with a high towering back with the crest of the throne's owner carved on to the back so as to be visible to all who entered the chamber.

Chemical lanterns dangled in clumps above on vast chandelier illuminating the room in amber light reflecting off the polished stone floor.

The man who sat in the throne looked haggard and was currently puffing on an elegantly crafted wooden pipe deep in thought while the other members in the room argued and vied for their opinion to be heard.

On table in front of the Kaiser was the latest report on the Plague's progression through Europe. Porters came in and out of several small servant's door with professional discretion and refilled the decanters and glasses and replaced cigarettes and cigars. One placed another piece of paper in front of the Supreme ruler of Germany.

The news was not good. The report depicted that the French had become overrun with refugees. The capital now ablaze as desperate officials tried to cauterise everything.

Conventional quarantine had failed. The war had taken too much for anyone to do anything.

People were panicking and herding together in one direction.

Clustered and scared they were the perfect breeding ground for the virus. It bloomed just as intended.

The Russians had the right idea perhaps. Assemble a massive line of Gorgons and Igneous Lizards and set them on the fleeing masses. Burn them all.

No word from the British, the bastards. Hold up on their island fortress. They were lucky. A whole bloody channel of cold deadly water filled with monsters and mines to keep those fleeing from bringing the disease to their shores.

Perhaps this was all their idea. Their plan: weaken the continent already engulfed in a devastating conflict with plague and then swoop in and finish it all. But perhaps not even the British would stoop to such extremes, despite being godless heathens. Or maybe…

Someone started talking and brought him out of his musings.

"Sire you must act," they said.

"It's spreading faster than the quarantine can contain. We are losing, sire," said another.

"There must be something we haven't tried," reasoned a third.

"We won't be able to stop it with anything in these plans. Sir, I recommend immediate deployment of the Extermination Weapons. Complete area denial." Said the calmest of the speakers. This suggestion raised a choir of objections.

"You can't be serious, we have no idea how they will react to the atmosphere. We could ignite everything!" countered the loudest voice.

"Better to die by our own weapons then to this Darwinist concoction,' they responded, "We have barely two weeks before the capital is consumed. A month before the country is destroyed! We can stop it now or not at all-"

The Monarchy slammed his fist onto the table sending the papers flying and rattling everyone into a sudden silence, "Enough!" he roared. Silence enveloped the room only to be broken by a toppled glass rolling off the table and shattering.

He sighed and bowed his head. He looked at the pipe with its smoking content spilled across the table. He raised his head and looked each and every one of his Admirals, Generals and advisors in the eye before he gave a subtle nod and reclined back into the throne.

"Tell my Pyromancers tolaunch the _Helios Spears_. Show the world what fruits we have reaped and scorch this curse from our lands." He said in a hollow voice of one who has been left no choice, "And pray our children forgive us."

**So the golden age ended…**

Deep beneath the earth in secret hollow mountains fingers danced across blinking panels of buttons and switches. Large hatches swung open on cold steel tombs. Blunt nosed objects jutted out into the failing twilight.

Alarms and powerful klaxons sound as a key is turned.

Ignition.

A roar so loud the ground shakes in protest. From each of the objects comes a bright yellow light as their engines blaze and propel them skyward.

The rockets start to climb and fly faster and faster and faster.

They thunder up into the dark clouds arching off onto their targets.

Tails of fire illuminate the heavens as they soar high above and then curve back to earth. Gravity drags them down as their engines burn out.

A low howling is heard by the unlucky, maybe a single soul gazes up with a ruffled brow of confusion.

And then suddenly nothing matters anymore.

Like blossoming flowers the explosions radiate out with large lancing arms of nuclear fire that burn with the sheer power of the stars themselves. In an instant their victims are vaporised, at two hundred miles they are incinerated to radioactive husks. And to those who survive the flaring inferno comes a slower painful death as waves of invisible heat melt their skin and _change_ them into something else.

Light so bright that the dark turned away in horror from the shimmering, shinning orbs. Mushrooms of smoke climb skyward illuminated by the rays of deadly fire. Water boiled and the earth was blackened by their elemental rage.

Then the light faded and the walls of dust and earth came roaring. Europe goes dark and the storm starts to turn with flashes of green fire dancing at its core.

**And as the world fell they watched from the shadows…**

Across the planet in another darkened room was another meeting.

The table was round and marble white with its incredibly smooth surface illuminated by a halo of sullen lamps that dangled from an ancient iron chandelier. The room had been carved from solid rock. The floor was polished stone yet its walls and ceiling were still jagged and held a cave-like appearance. Somewhere in the dark a small waterfall trickled.

Surrounding the table were six figures. All wore deep black robes with thick hoods pulled up obscuring their features.

Around the apparitions necks and dangling down their fronts where intricate designs of gold chains. Words where etched onto the plates the chains held. Words of power and will.

"The Humboldts have done as was ordered," said one of the cloaked figures in a metallic voice that concealed its real voice. Its words echoed around the dark space of the cavern, "The virus has done its work and the Germans have finished the rest."

"Very good," replied the deeper metallic voice of the figure that sat at the tables end. In front of it on the table was a jewel encrusted silver crown marking the figures rank. It glimmered in the light as if it were made entirely of ice, "The Script must be followed no matter the cost. This war has gone on for long enough and these dusty old empires have had their turn. It is time for new growth."

"Fire turns even the proudest oaks to ash. The world has had enough of Europe's blundering," Said a more feminine toned figure, "the British will return to their fortress island and leave the oceans to whoever come next. And now with their borders reduced to scorched irradiated slag the German's are trapped."

"Yet safe from any who would see them as a target," countered another robed figure with a lofty aristocratic voice, "Let us not forget the ingenuity of the Germans, they are of course the fathers of Clankerism and have the shown the world what power they can wield. They need not worry of anyone attempting to seize there lands."

"My lord is correct, of course," said the female toned figure with a slightly terse tone.

"Deploying the sun spear weaponry was necessary for bringing the Russian's expansion to heel. The Germans have much rebuilding to do, it is unlikely they will be able to pose a problem for us. We may now focus all efforts in nurturing the collapse of these new dominions," said the first speaker, "Already there is talk of a second great war occurring in the pacific."

"As long as we are ignored it matters not who the victor is. We will be ready for whoever comes." Said the hooded leader, "Let the world change, let these new rulers test their strength and wage these wars. In the end all of them will bend the knee and swear fealty to us as the Guardians of Mankind. We will take them all under are wings and lead these foolish people to a brighter future."

"Our Fabricators, ship yards and weapons factories work tirelessly," said the female speaker.

"And my forces stand ready for your command," replied a fourth voice in a gruff Australian twang even the synthesizers could not hide.

"Good. It has taken years of manipulation but our seeds have finally taken root. Take pride my friends for our work will lead to brighter tomorrow" said the leader as clockwork whirring slithered into his metal voice, "For our words are true..."

"And all shall listen," echoed the other robed figures.

Stencilled onto the table was a ring of emblems that resembled a zodiac design. Among them was one that resembled an octopus's cameo placed in front of a golden cog. It along with eleven other sigils encircled another image. One that resembled the face of skeleton cowled under a black hood. Empty eyes and a humourless grin stared up unblinkingly from that smooth marble table.

The crown gleamed in the half light as the leader toyed with it as his followers departed.

He knew the plan by heart and knew that next the Clades would depart and the destabilisation of the pacific and East Asian region would begin. But for now let the fires burn low and allow the world to catch its breath. A decade of chaos and change of order would do nicely. "Upon this rock I shall build my church," he murmured as a metal mouth curved up in a sound of clockwork chittering to form a horrible smile of iron teeth that gleamed in the false white light.


End file.
